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THE 

HEAR.T 
LADY  ANNE 


•  AXD  THE  PEACOCKS"— Page  9 


COPYRIGHT,      1905,     BV     F.     A.     STOKES     CO. 


HEAFJT  OF 
LADY  ANNE 


AGNES  andtGEKTON 

CASTLE 


A-u/tlio  rs  of  Ro-ye-   of  tli«.  World 
TKe    BaAK  C  ornery    TK«. 
of  Jenmco 
clc 


illu.si  »-a,tioj*$  in  color 

ETHEL  FRANKLIN  BETTS 

o-nd 


Wvitnerpus  Decora,lion* 

V 

FREDERICK. GARRISON  HALL 


NEW  YORK. 

FREDERICK  A. STOKES 
COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1904,  BY 
THE  AINSLEE  MAGAZINE  COMPANY. 

COPYRIGHT,  1905,  BY 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 


This  edition  published  in  October,  1905. 


TYPOGRAPHY  BY  THE   UNIVERSITY  PRESS,   CAMBRIDGE,   U.  S. 

PRESSWORK  AND  BINDING  BY 
THE  PLIMPTON  PRESS,   NORWOOD,  MASS.,   U.  S.  A. 


c;-»  Art 
URL  i 


To 
THE  HONOURABLE  M™.  EVERARD  PEPYS 


Foreword 


FTER  the  fashion  of  Autoly- 
cus  (a  rogue),  calling  his 
ballad-sheets,  may  not  the 
writers,  honest  folk  though 
they  be,  make  known,  to 
all  who  would  pause  and 
read,  the  matter  set  forth 
within  these  pages  ? — 'T  is 
a  picture  of  married  lovers, 
framed  in  the  style  of  Mr. 
Chippendale,  as  befits  the 
days  when  Lady  Anne,  in 
the  sweet  of  her  year, 
smiled  and  wept  upon  a 
younger  world. 

Would  you  have  more  ? 
— 'T  is  a  drama  in  which  the 
first  gentlemen,  as  they  stride,  are  conscious 
of  the  elegance  of  a  good  leg  in  silk  stocking 
and  of  a  fine  figure  in  a  brocade  coat;  in 
[vii] 


FOREWORD 


which,  if  blood  be  shed,  it  is  between  two 
courtly  bows  and  with  a  flutter  of  Mechlin ; — 
a  drama  in  which,  if  hearts  be  broken,  the 
pretty  heads  of  leading  ladies  are  not  shaken 
with  too  violent  an  emotion  (lest  powder  fly 
incommodingly)  and  not  more  than  a  discreet 
tear  is  indulged  in ;  for  there  is  always  your 
rouge  and  your  patch  to  be  thought  of.  And, 
la !  who  would  look  a  fright,  even  at  the  call 
of  sensibility  ? 

Or  yet  again,  you  may  call  this  a  "  Tale  in 
Porcelain"  of  the  Taming  of  the  Shrew. — 
Shrew  (you  might  say)  is,  sure,  too  harsh  a 
name  for  so  dainty  a  piece  as  my  young 
Lady  Anne.  Taming,  also,  is  perhaps  an 
overweighty  word  to  depict  the  conflict  of 
hearts  and  wit  (full  of  wrath  at  times  but 
never  devoid  of  courtesy)  between  the  chiv- 
alrous, if  iron-willed,  young  English  squire, 
home-keeping  by  taste  and  country-loving 
above  all  things,  and  his  girl-wife,  bred  amid 
the  artificialities  of  a  Versailles  court  and 
still  all  afire  for  the  excitement  of  the  Town. 
But  such  is  the  theme:  "she  would  not  be 
taught  with  a  kiss."  And,  if  taming  there 
[  viii  ] 


FOREWORD 


be,  if  the  lady  here  learn  in  the  end  to  recog- 
nise herself  as 

"  a  foul  contending  rebel 
And  graceless  traitor  to  her  loving  lord  " ; 

if,  indeed,  she  be  ready  to  proclaim,  of  herself 
and  of  all  other  fair  young  wives,  too  self- 
reliant  in  a  strange,  naughty  world,  that,  in 
such  contentions, 

"  our  lances  are  but  straws, 
Our  strength  as  weak,  our  weakness  past  compare  "  ; 

at  least  her  experience  is  more  gracious  than 
that  of  ill-used,  bullied  Katharina  ;  and  its 
lessons  are  tempered  for  her  by  the  watches 
and  loving  wiles  of  a  decorous  Petruchio  - 
in  a  tie-cue  and  lace  ruffles  and  with  a  deli- 
cate sense  of  generosity. 


In  the  eyes  of  some  —  in  the  eyes,  at 
least,  of  those  who  happen  to  have  followed 
with  any  interest  the  career  of  "  Incompara- 
ble Bellairs  "  through  the  ''''Bath  Comedy  "  and 
other  stories  —  the  Lady  Anne  of  the  pres- 
ent tale  may  derive  some  special  lustre  from 
her  friendship  with  Kitty ,  or  rather  with  my 
[ix] 


FOREWORD 


Lady  Kilcroney  (as  she  must  now  be  styled  : 
Mr.  Denis  O'Hara  having  been  accepted  at 
last,  and  having  come  to  his  title).  For,  as 
must  be  surmised  by  those  who  have  known 
her  in  her  gay  widowhood,  whenever  she 
steps  upon  the  scene,  Kitty,  though  married, 
still  merrily  guides  the  plot  and  leads  the 
cantrip. 


The  Heart  of  Lady  Anne 


brown  —  turned 
inquiry    towards 


CHAPTER    I 


HE  blue  roan  stamped 
her  foot,  champed  and 
tossed  her  head.  She 
was  a  lady  that  could 
not  bear  to  be  kept  wait- 
ing —  in  which  respect 
she  was  not  unlike  Lady 
Anne  Day,  her  mistress. 
The  morning  gallop  judi- 
ciously administered  by 
Squire  Day,  the  devoted 
husband,  for  the  greater 
safety  of  his  fair  bride, 
had  but  exhilarated  the 
mare's  spirit.  Her  so- 
berer companion  -  -  the 
Squire's  own  favourite 
his  head  in  rebuke  and 

his     volatile    companion. 


Things  seemed   strangely  altered  of  late  at 
Queen's  Compton ! 

[3] 


gg  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

The  ring  of  the  iron  shoe  on  the  gravel 
rose  musically  up  to  her  Ladyship's  room. 

"  'T  is  a  lovely  morning,  Nan  !  "  said  the 
Squire. 

Lady  Anne  shifted  herself  petulantly  on 
her  pillow  and  turned  her  long  blue  eyes, 
somewhat  coldly,  upon  her  husband.  The 
Squire  moved  away  from  the  window,  which 
he  had  just  flung  open.  A  flood  of  sun- 
shine gilded  his  strong,  erect  figure,  his  fresh 
wholesome  face ;  a  blast  of  April  air,  sweet 
yet  biting,  breathing  as  of  the  flowers  to 
come,  yet  also  of  the  snows  that  were  but 
lately  past,  came  frolicking  into  the  bed- 
room and  set  the  laces  of  Lady  Anne's 
pretty  nightcap  dancing  round  her  little 
pointed  face. 

"  You  have  sworn  to  kill  me,  I  declare ! " 
cried  she. 

"  My  dearest  dear  !  —  " 

"  To  let  these  horrid  rude  airs  in  upon  me 
—  before  I  have  found  even  strength  to 
swallow  my  chocolate !  " 

"  Why,  Nan  - 

"  My  chest  was  never  strong,  Philip." 
An  affected  little  cough  escaped  from  the 

[4] 


THE   HEART   OF   LADY   ANNE 


prettiest,  healthiest,  rosiest  lips  in  all  the 
world ;  and  my  Lady  Anne  Day  placed 
the  tip  of  a  taper  finger  on  one  side  of  the 
roundest  young  bosom,  the  while  endeavour- 
ing to  impart  an  air  of  anguished  fragility  to 
her  flower  face. 

"  Yes,  this  place  of  yours  will  be  the  death 
of  me !  " 

"Nan!" 

The  young  husband's  tones  expressed  at 
each  interruption  the  gradations  of  his 
wounded  feelings.  The  last  was  a  cry  of 
reproach  ;  and  indeed,  as  a  couple  of  hasty 
steps  brought  him  close  to  the  bed,  there 
was  a  distinct,  if  transient,  flash  of  anger  in 
the  frank  brown  eyes. 

Lady  Anne  gave  a  scream  and  flung  out 
a  small,  forbidding  hand. 

"  In  mercy,  Philip,  keep  your  distance, 
and  you  straight  from  the  stables ! " 

Squire  Day  halted,  open-mouthed.  This 
new  flight  of  fancy  carried  her  beyond  his 
comprehension. 

"  Well,  have  you  not  been  to  the  stables  ?  " 
cried  she  sharply. 

"Ay,  Nan,  that  have  I,  and  galloped  the 
[5] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY   ANNE 


blue  roan  thrice  round  the  park  to  get  the 
trickiness  out  of  her,  against  your  mounting 
her  presently.  Was  it  not  settled  between 
us  last  night,"  he  went  on  a  little  wistfully, 
"  that  we  should  ride  out  together  this  morn- 
ing ?  'T  is  a  lovely  day,"  he  repeated. 
"  And,  indeed,  I  thought  to  find  you  dressed, 
little  lazy-bones." 

A  sudden  -wave  of  crimson  flew  to  the 
lady's  delicate  pink  cheek.  She  tossed 
her  head,  and  the  yellow  curls,  half  blanched 
with  lingering  powder,  danced  under  the 
nodding  laces  about  her  forehead. 

"I  apprehend  the  reproach,  Sir.  'Tis 
a  vast  pity  you  sought  to  wed  with  a 
person  of  my  town  breeding  and  indifferent 
health." 

"  Your  health,  love,"  remarked  he,  drily 
enough  now,  "  has  enabled  you  many  a  time 
to  dance  a  night  through  and  wear  a  rosy 
cheek  at  dawn  —  as  these  eyes  have  seen. 
Your  health,  my  sweet  lady/'  he  went  on,  after 
a  contemplative  pause,  and  more  quietly, 
again  approaching  the  bed,  "  is  not  (and  I 
thank  God  for  it)  such  as  to  cause  me 
anxiety." 

[6] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


He  would  have  finished  with  a  kiss,  but 
she  turned  her  face  sharply  away. 

"  'T  is  vastly  easy  to  kiss  me,  Sir,  but  I 
could  dispense  with  such  caresses  from  one 
who  thinks  naught  of  breaking  a  woman's 
heart  at  his  leisure." 

The  Squire  started. 

"  Do  I  indeed  break  your  heart,  Nan  ?  " 
His  lips  trembled  as  he  spoke  ;  whereby  it 
might  be  seen  how  young  a  man  this  husband 
was  still. 

"To  refuse  a  lady's  request  —  my  first 
request.  For  no  reason ! " 

The  tears  of  self-pity  began  to  well  up  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Now,  in  God's  name,"  said  the  Squire, 
"  let  us  get  to  the  bottom  of  this !  I,  refuse 
you  ?  And  your  first  request,  forsooth  ? 
Do  I  not  spend  my  days  in  serving  your 
whims  ?  Hast  not  the  new  Lyons  brocade 
for  the  parlour?  " 

"  Brocade !  " 

"  The  new-fangled  rose-garden  on  the  old 
terrace  —  and  the  China  rose-trees  ?  " 

"  A  few  poor  flowers  —  " 

"  The  new  coach  on  springs  with  the  pearl- 


THE    HEART    OF   LADY    ANNE 


grey  trappings  and  the  four  greys  —  such  a 
match  as  it  would  beat  England  to  produce 
again.  Equipage  for  a  queen,  better  than 
her  Grace  of  Devonshire?" 

u  Oh,  Sir,  I  fain  would  ask  who  gets  the 
most  pleasure  from  the  cattle  — " 

"  Why,  then,  little  ingrate,  what  of  the 
pearls  of  perfect  form  for  your  own  white 
throat  ?  They  ran  me  a  naught  dearer  than 
the  greys  themselves.  Not  to  speak,  indeed, 
of  the  new  lackeys  and  the  new  liveries  — 
nothing  less  than  B leu-de-Roy  and  gold 
would  serve  your  Ladyship,  when  my  dear 
mother  and  I  had  gone  to  our  graves  con- 
tent between  old  Giles  in  decent  black  and 
honest  Joe  in  snuff." 

"  Oh,  Sir,"  said  Lady  Anne,  her  nose 
in  the  air,  "since  you  were  so  content 
with  your  lady-mother,  't  was  a  prodigious 
pity  you  should  seek  to  wed.  But  now, 
pray,  have  you  naught  else  to  cast  up 
to  me  ?  " 

"  Why,   I  believe  there  is   a  trifle  of  the 

new  French  furniture  by  Mr.   Chippendale; 

and  the  spinet,  same  as  his  Royal  Highness 

gave    Mrs.    Robinson;    and    the    chocolate 

[8] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


service  from  Sevres,  and  the  black  page, 
and  the  peacocks,  and  —  " 

"  Enough,  Sir,  enough  !  You  have  an  ac- 
curate memory  for  your  own  generosity,  mon 
Dieu  —  a  perfect  commissaire-priseur  /  Good 
heavens !  "  cried  Lady  Anne,  clasping  her 
hands,  "  peacocks,  brocades,  trinkets,  livery 
breeches,  are  these  the  goods  to  fill  a  woman's 
heart  withal  ?  "  She  turned  up  her  eyes  and 
looked  vastly  pretty. 

Squire  Day  edged  along  the  bed  until  he 
had  reached  her  side,  and  then  put  his  arm 
about  her. 

"  And  do  you  make  naught  of  my  love, 
Nan?"  he  whispered. 

She  suddenly  nestled  her  head  into  the 
hollow  of  his  shoulder.  Strange !  the  alleged 
stable  aroma  seemed  no  longer  to  incom- 
mode her. 

"  If  you  would  but  give  me  the  proof,"  she 
whispered  back  sweetly. 

"What  proof?"  he  asked,  his  lips  upon 
her  cheek. 

She  moved  till  her  own  lips  were  nearly 
on  his,  then  breathed :  "  Ah,  Philip,  I  languish 
here."  He  lifted  his  head  quickly  —  "  So  far 

[9] 


gg  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

from  my  revered  family,"  she  went  on  piously. 
The  grasp  of  his  arm  slackened.  "  Surely,  a 
house  in  London  for  the  season  —  " 

He  got  up  abruptly,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  her  with  folded  arms ;  and  his  eyes 

—  a   moment   ago  so    ardent  —  had   grown 
hard. 

"  Your  chocolate  will  be  cold,"  said  he, 
after  a  moment's  pause.  "  Had  you  not 
better  drink  it  ?  " 

He  took  the  little  tray  and  laid  it  on  the 
bed.  His  attitude  puzzled  her.  The  spoilt 
child-wife  knew  the  man  but  little  as  yet,  or 
rather  she  had  not  taken  the  trouble  to  learn 
him.  She  thought  that  the  fact  of  his  not 
again  refusing  was  so  much  gained;  and, 
emboldened,  she  proceeded  airily : 

"I  would  fancy  a  house  —  in  St.  James's 
Square.  And  since  it  is  not  your  pleasure 
that  I  should  have  my  Town  residence 
permanently  —  which,  indeed,  were  only  be- 
coming to  my  position  —  but  let  that  pass 

—  I  would  ask  no  more  than  one  hired  for 
the  season.     Indeed,  Philip  "  —  she  stretched 
out  her  hand  to  a  silken   bag  on  the  table 
beside  her  bed  —  "  Kitty  Kilcroney  tells  me 

[10] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


there  's  a  prodigious  bargain  agoing  on  the 
Mall  side — 'tis  the  very  thing  for  me,  she 
writes.  A  plague  upon  this  bag,  that  I  can- 
not reach  it !  " 

"  Never  mind  the  bag,"  said  the  Squire 
tonelessly,  laying  one  hand  on  the  choco- 
late tray  just  in  time  to  avert  a  catas- 
trophe. "  I  '11  take  my  Lady  Kilcroney's 
word  for  it." 

"  Will  you,  Philip  ?  Will  you,  my  dearest 
dear!" 

"  Nay,  love — nay,  love,"  mocked  he,  "drink 
your  chocolate." 

He  poured  her  out  a  cup.  She  took  it 
absently  and  fell  to  stirring  it,  her  face  up- 
turned eagerly  towards  him,  her  blue  eyes 
shining  with  glad  expectancy. 

"  I  will  send  a  post  to  Kitty  this  very 
moment,"  she  cried. 

"  Do  so,"  quoth  he ;  "  and  tell  her  that 
you  wedded  a  country  squire,  and  that  your 
duties  keep  you  by  his  side." 

"Philip!" 

"  You  may  add,"  he  continued  with  a 
sarcastic  smile,  in  the  same  measured  voice, 
"  that  your  husband  has  neither  inclination 


181  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  jg 

to  leave  his  father's  estate  nor  money  to 
squander  on  Town  folly." 

"Sir!" 

"  That  he  considers  it  unbecoming  for  a 
lady  who  is  wedded,  mistress  of  an  establish- 
ment, to  hanker  after  the  empty  frivolities 
of  fashion  ;  that  —  " 

"  It  will  serve,  Sir,"  cried  the  wedded  lady, 
setting  her  teeth  ;  "  I  understand." 

Awhile  they  contemplated  each  other;  she 
breathing  very  hard  and  fast,  her  eyes  flash- 
ing ruby  fire  as  only  blue  eyes  can ;  he 
with  the  set  expression,  the  cold  gaze  that 
contrasted  so  strangely  with  his  youthful 
countenance. 

"  I  presume,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a 
strangled  voice,  "  that  you  will  not  dare  to 
interfere  with  my  passing  a  few  days  in  my 
paternal  home  ?  " 

He  looked  down  at  his  coat-sleeve  and 
flicked  a  spot  of  mud  from  it  with  one 
ringer. 

"  Without  any  remarkable  courage,"  he 
then  said,  "  I  venture  to  think  that  your 
husband's  home  should  suffice  you." 

Her  little  body  was  shaken  with  fury  — 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


she  drew  a  hissing  breath  and  choked  upon 
the  impotence  of  words.  Then  she  flung 
the  cup  of  chocolate  at  him  —  prudently 
wide  of  the  aim,  however  —  and  fell  back 
on  her  pillows  sobbing. 

He  gave  one  glance  at  the  delicate  frag- 
ments of  the  Sevres  cup,  at  the  brown  mess 
on  the  new  Aubusson  carpet,  then,  whistling 
softly,  walked  out  of  the  room. 

The  blue  roan's  impatient  hoof  rang  up 
again  from  the  terrace  walk.  Squire  Day, 
as  he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  hearkened 
to  it  and  felt  that  the  last  drop  had  been 
added  to  the  bitterness  of  his  morning  cup. 
He  had  planned  such  a  perfect  hour  with  his 
sweet  Nan  —  and  sweet  indeed  she  could 
be  in  her  mood  —  under  the  limes  of  the 
avenue  :  that  noted  avenue  of  Queen's  Comp- 
ton,  two  miles  long,  wondrous  now  in  its  pale 
spring  green,  alive  with  the  flutter  and  the 
music  of  mating  birds.  And  then  —  then 
across  the  turf  to  the  Oak  Wood,  there  to 
show  her  that  sheet  of  primroses  that  al- 
ready carpeted  the  Dell;  and,  again,  round 
by  the  Beech  Plantation  (he  was  sure  Nan 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  8 


had  no  idea  that  the  young  beech-leaves  smelt 
like  roses).  Oh,  the  pride,  the  joy  and  the 
glory  of  the  ancestral  estate  !  Then  there 
were  some  lambs  in  the  upper  field  on  the 
border  of  the  Down.  Had  Nan  ever  seen 
a  lamb  —  a  lamb  without  blue  ribbons,  a 
country  lamb?  Poor  French  Nan,  starved 
of  all  the  sweet  sights  and  fresh  beauties  of 
an  English  country  existence !  Poor  Town- 
bred  Nan,  cooped  in  cities  most  of  the  years 
of  her  fair  young  life  when  she  was  not 
parading  the  alleys  of  some  fashionable 
French  Spa. 

Mixed  with  the  insurgent  passion,  which 
her  looks,  her  grace,  her  dainty  haughtiness 
had  inspired,  the  Squire  of  Queen's  Compton 
had  had  a  kinder  and  rarer  feeling  in  woo- 
ing his  pretty  love. 

Towards  the  conclusion  of  that  Grand 
Tour,  which  the  traditional  requirements 
of  a  gentleman's  education  had  forced  upon 
him  —  much  against  his  taste  —  he  had  met, 
at  a  ball  given  by  the  English  Embassy  in 
Paris,  La  mignonne  anglaise,  as  Lady  Anne 
Vertcceur,  despite  her  French  education, 


fi  THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE 


was  universally  known.  Her  fresh  English 
beauty  had  straightway  attracted  him :  it 
was  as  if  an  exquisite  hedge-rose  from  some 
home  lane  had  bloomed  for  him  in  the  midst 
of  the  stiff,  artificial  parterres. 

He  learned  that  she  had  indeed  English 
blood  in  her  veins  and  bore  an  English 
name,  for  all  its  Norman  origin  —  being  the 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Ongar,  former  Am- 
bassador to  the  Court  of  Versailles. 

The  fact  that  she  had  a  French  mother; 
that,  from  early  childhood,  she  had  been 
practically  adopted  and  brought  up  by  the 
celebrated  Marquise  de  Jonsac,  weighed  not 
at  all  in  the  balance  against  his  sudden 
infatuation.  Rather  did  it  increase  his  de- 
termination to  win  her.  Indeed,  when  she 
spoke  to  him  in  his  own  tongue,  every 
un-English  intonation,  every  dainty  lisped 
French  syllable,  added  fuel  to  his  fires.  It 
was  monstrous  that  she  should  be  robbed 
of  her  glorious  birthright ;  that  the  child 
of  an  English  father  should  stumble  over 
the  accents  of  her  own  language.  How 
tender,  how  delicious  a  task  it  would  be  to 
teach  that  innocent  tongue !  He  would 

[15] 


gg  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

transplant  her,  fair  English  rose,  from  that 
unwholesome  soil,  wherein  neither  body  nor 
soul  could  truly  blossom,  back  into  the  pure 
surroundings  of  her  fatherland —  of  his  own 
beautiful,  wide  estate. 

Fate  helped  the  determined  lover,  as  fate 
will.  Too  many  petits  soupers  fins,  too 
many  cups  of  sweet  chocolate,  too  much 
devotion  to  late  hours  and  the  excitements 
of  trictrac  and  ombre,  combined  to  whisk 
the  Marquise,  with  uncourtier-like  celerity, 
out  of  existence.  She,  who  had  been  ac- 
customed all  her  days  to  les  grandes  entrees 
et  les  grandes  sorties,  was  not  even  left  the 
time  to  make  her  reverence  to  the  world 
she  had  loved  so  well.  And  bewildered 
Nan,  who  had  been  looked  upon  as  a  great 
heiress,  found  herself,  with  the  same  want 
of  ceremony,  suddenly  stranded :  a  little 
English  intruder  in  a  throng  of  greedy, 
jealous  relations.  These  latter  felt  none 
the  more  kindly  to  her  that  she  should 
profit  no  more  than  they  of  the  hypotheti- 
cal great  fortune  of  Jonsac.  La  douillete 
Marquise  had  invested  all  in  a  noble  an- 
nuity —  one  of  those  terrible  inventions  of 
[16] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


M.  Necker  —  which  she  had  spent  as  nobly, 
but  the  secret  of  which  she  had  kept  with 
much  comfort  to  herself  till  her  last  hour. 

Philip  Day  made  good  his  golden  oppor- 
tunity. When  my  Lord  Ongar  landed  in 
France  —  a  fussy,  bilious,  dissatisfied  Whig 
nobleman,  more  bilious,  dissatisfied  and 
fussy  than  ever  at  this  annoying  turn  of 
Fortune's  wheel :  he  had  a  large  family  of 
daughters  and  had  up  to  now  believed  one 
of  them  at  least  generously  provided  for  — 
behold,  the  wheel  had  again  turned !  Wealth 
and  a  happy  settlement  in  life  were  awaiting 
Nan's  acceptance.  Nor  was  she,  in  spite  of 
her  naturally  wayward  humour,  loth  to  ac- 
cept them.  Day  of  Queen's  Compton  (her 
father  promptly  explained  to  her)  was  a 
match  for  the  daughter  of  any  Duke  in 
England.  More  than  a  match  —  for  all  his 
plain  territorial  distinction  —  for  any  frog- 
eating  Marquis  or  Prince  of  France ! 

Father  and  lover  between  them  gave  the 
girl  scarcely  time  to  breathe.  The  marriage 
ceremony  was  performed  with  the  briefest 
.possible  delay  at  the  old  hotel  of  the  British 
Embassy  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore ;  and  Squire 

[17] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


Day  whirled  his  Nan,  with  her  pretty  French 
ways  and  her  English  heart,  along  the  paved 
highroad,  poplar-lined,  all  haste  towards  the 
once  English  Calais. 

But  the  process  of  education  was  to  prove 
neither  as  sweet  nor  as  facile  as  he  had  con- 
fidently reckoned.  He  was  yet  to  find  out 
that,  from  his  English  point  of  view,  her  mind 
had  been  as  cramped  by  the  artificialities 
of  foreign  life  as  the  rest.  He  was  to  find 
how  much  he  had  yet  to  teach  her.  But 
he  was  strong  in  love  —  so  he  knew.  And 
she  was  beginning  to  learn  —  so  he  fondly 
believed. 

As  he  had  ridden  round  his  park  that 
morning,  his  heart  had  swelled  with  tender 
pride.  Deeply  rooted  in  his  nature  was  the 
love  of  his  home  ;  indeed,  it  seemed  an  inte- 
gral part  of  himself.  Here  he  had  been 
born ;  here  bred ;  here  he  would  live  and 
die.  He  was  part  of  the  soil;  his  soul  like 
that  of  the  oak.  He  was  part  of  its  story: 
Day  of  Queen's  Compton,  as  Queen's  Comp- 
ton  was  of  Oxfordshire,  and  Oxfordshire  of 
England  —  components  of  a  proud  whole! 
He  could  conceive  no  fairer  fate  than  his 
[18] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


own,  and  thus  no  higher  honour  to  divide 
with  another.  He  had  never  left  the  noble 
old  house,  for  school  or  college  or  travels, 
without  a  heavy  heart.  He  could  never  be 
induced  now  to  prolong  his  visits  to  the 
Town  beyond  a  fortnight.  That  fateful 
Grand  Tour  had  been  the  one  long  separa- 
tion. Rarely  indeed  did  he  seek  relaxation 
without  the  boundaries  of  his  own  walls, 
although  a  couple  of  hours'  ride  would 
have  brought  him  to  Oxford,  yonder  sober 
storehouse  of  learning  and  memory,  yonder 
merry  haunt  withal  of  youth  and  promise. 
He  had  found  his  mother,  a  prudent  lady 
of  mighty  household  proficiency,  sufficient 
company  till  that  day  —  blessed  or  cursed  — 
when  he  had  lost  his  heart  straight  away  to 
Lady  Anne  Vertcceur,  the  spoilt  beauty  of 
Versailles. 

That  the  new  mistress  of  Compton  and  of 
all  its  wealth  should  not  promptly  begin  to 
follow  in  the  footsteps  of  the  old ;  that  the 
Squire's  lady  should  not  share  the  Squire's 
love  and  pride  in  his  home,  even  as  she 
shared  its  wealth  and  honour,  was  a  state 
of  affairs  that  had  never  entered  into  the 


THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


young  husband's  calculations.  He  would 
not  entertain  the  thought.  When  the  pretty, 
pettish  creature  at  first  scouted  the  notion 
of  still-room  and  linen-cupboards,  when  she 
vowed  that  to  visit  the  dairy  made  her 
sneeze,  that  to  enter  the  kitchen  made  her 
squeamish,  he  was  indulgent.  On  the  other 
hand,  every  whim  that  beset  her  for  the 
embellishment  in  modern  taste  of  the  an- 
tique rooms  was  gratified  with  almost  pa- 
thetic haste.  Did  it  not  show  (as  he  averred 
to  the  scandalised  Madam  Day)  that  Nan 
was  beginning  to  take  an  interest  in  her 
house? 

That  memorable  afternoon,  when  the  new 
mistress  and  the  old  had  the  great  encounter 
which  ended  in  the  elder  lady  departing  in 
dudgeon  to  the  Dower  House  across  the 
park,  he  had,  for  the  first  time  perhaps  in 
his  life,  even  blamed  his  mother.  Indeed, 
Lady  Anne  had  had  as  a  consequence  such 
a  complete  and  successful  attack  of  the 
vapours  that  no  man  with  the  feelings  of  a 
man  could  have  done  aught  but  to  side  with 
her;  especially  as  Madam  Day,  of  a  sturdy, 
old-fashioned  stock  (she  was  a  Stanley  her- 

[20] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


self),  betrayed  throughout  the  interview  no 
deeper  sign  of  emotion  than  a  tight,  one- 
sided smile  of  bitter  significance. 

And  then,  for  the  last  few  days,  his  Nan 
had  been  so  coaxing,  so  engaging !  The 
Squire,  with  the  buoyancy  of  youth,  had  told 
himself  that  all  was  coming  right.  She  had 
ridden  with  him,  walked  with  him,  inquired 
what  flowers  the  gardeners  meant  to  place 
in  certain  beds;  superintended  herself  the 
planting  of  her  rose-trees;  had  gone  into 
something  bordering;  on  enthusiasm  over  a 

o  o 

brood  of  ducklings,  and  had  actually  con- 
sented to  take  a  conciliatory  dish  of  tea  with 
Madam,  at  the  Dower  House,  sans  trop  faire 
la  grimace. 

Perhaps  to-day,  if  he  had  not  roused  her 
from  her  sleep  so  suddenly  —  But  no ; 
the  little  hypocrite  had  been  playing  her 
game!  All  —  all  was  spoilt  to  him.  And 
he  had  been  so  light-hearted  only  an  hour 
ago! 

Awakening  from  the  heavy  muse  into 
which  he  had  fallen  on  reaching  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  the  young  Squire  strode  across 
the  great  stone  hall,  and,  giving  brief  orders 

[21] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


that  the  blue  roan  should  be  reconducted  to 
the  stables,  swung  himself  upon  the  brown. 

"  Tell  her  Ladyship  that  I  may  be  back 
late,"  he  called  out  from  the  saddle,  and  can- 
tered off. 

Old  Giles  looked  after  him  with  eyes  of 
pride  —  such  a  gallant  young  figure,  the  sun- 
shine blazing  on  his  ruddy  brown  hair! 

"  His  grandfather  over  again,  God  bless 
him  ! "  said  Giles,  who  had  been  born  and 
bred  in  the  family  of  Day  of  Queen's 
Compton. 


[22] 


H 


CHAPTER  II 


ER  LADYSHIP  held  her 
breath,  listening,  while  the 
crisp  rhythm  of  the  hoofs 
pulsed  in  the  air  and  died 
away.  Then  she  flung  her- 
self back  among  her  pillows 
with  a  fresh  explosion  of 
sobs.  Had  any  three- 
months'  old  bride  ever 
been  so  hardly  treated? 
He  did  not  love  her!  He 
could  never  have  loved  her, 
or  he  could  not  thus  refuse 
so  reasonable,  so  really 
pious  a  request!  Her 
husband  was  a  monster,  a 
Bluebeard !  She,  unfortu- 
nate, was  to  be  shut  up  in  this  silent 
stone  house,  a  veritable  prison,  and  not  even 
allowed  to  visit  her  aged  parents  —  in  St. 
James's  Square  ! 

[35] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


She  sobbed  until  her  own  agitation  and 
the  want  of  her  breakfast  quite  overcame 
her,  and  she  thought  she  was  dying.  Then 
she  rang  violently  for  her  woman.  Eau  des 
Carmes  had  to  be  administered,  salts  to  be 
held  under  her  pretty  nostrils,  the  palms  of 
her  hands  to  be  gently  slapped.  These,  and 
all  the  other  ceremonies  demanded  by  the 
situation,  were  briskly  gone  through  by 
Ma'm'selle  Toinette,  her  Ladyship's  tire- 
woman. 

When  at  last,  palpitating,  red-eyed,  pallid 
—  a  very  ghost  of  her  who  had  lifted  so  rosy 
a  minois  from  her  pillow  that  morning  — 
Lady  Anne  found  herself  sufficiently  re- 
stored to  partake  of  a  fresh  cup  of  chocolate, 
the  Frenchwoman  had  leisure  to  pick  up  the 
fragments  of  the  broken  Sevres  on  the  floor, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  to  discuss  the  position 
of  affairs.  This  latter  she  did  with  some 
airs  of  familiarity  and  a  great  decision  of 
mind. 

It  was  Monsieur  who  had  so  agitated 
Madame? 

Oh,  he  had  been  so  cruel !     So  unkind  ! 

Unkind!     Unkind  with  that  angel  which 

[26] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY   ANNE 


was  Milady!  And  Monsieur  had  gone  and 
left  Milady — pam'ee?  He  must  then  have 
been  in  great  anger. 

The  Frenchwoman  looked  curiously  at 
the  signs  of  disaster  on  the  floor. 

Alas !  it  was  even  so :  in  anger,  most  un- 
just anger! 

"  Ah ! "  said  Toinette,  lighting  up  with 
eager  malice.  "  And  it  is  Monsieur  who  has 
broke  Madame's  pretty  Sevres.  Oh,  the 
men,  they  are  all  monsters!  " 

There  was  a  silence.  The  quick  glance, 
searching  Lady  Anne's  face,  saw  with  no 
less  satisfaction  another  side  to  the  situation. 

"  To  think  of  Monsieur  being  so  violent." 
proceeded  their  owner  slyly.  "  No  wonder 
Milady  is  ill." 

"'Twas  not  exactly  thus,"  faltered  truth- 
ful Anne.  "  Nay,  I  scarce  know  how  it 
happened;  but  Mr.  Day  so  agitated,  so 
upset  me,  that  the  cup  slipped  from  my 
hand." 

Toinette's  eyes  measured  the  distance 
which  this  lively  cup  seemed  to  have  trav- 
elled, and  a  dry  silence  ensued.  Where- 
upon Lady  Anne,  in  sheer  self-defence,  had 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  & 

to  relapse  into  swooning,  and  fresh  cordial 
was  administered,  somewhat  sardonically,  by 
the  handmaiden. 

Monsieur  had  refused  that  Milady  should 
go  to  the  Town !  Was  it  possible  ?  Such  a 
barbarity ! 

Toinette  was  very  genuinely  indignant. 
She  pitied  poor  Milady  —  with  all  her  heart 
she  pitied  her.  From  the  instant  they  had 
set  foot  in  the  shadow  of  this  tombeaii,  she, 
Toinette,  had  said  to  herself:  To  bury  my 
mistress  here,  one  so  young,  so  fair,  so  uni- 
versally admired;  one,  in  fact,  made  to  shine 
like  the  diamond  in  the  brilliancy  of  the 
Great  World  —  the  Frenchwoman  waved 
scraps  of  brown  hands  in  ever  more  rapid 
gesticulation — it  was  assassination!  Yes, 
assassination!  Of  what  good,  she  would 
like  to  know,  were  Milady's  jewels  shut 
up  in  their  cases?  What  good  the  jewel 
of  Milady's  beauty  in  this  great  green 
box? — "  Tenez,  Madame,  it  is  worse  than 
wasted — it  suffers,  just  as  Milady's  pearls 
will  suffer.  Quant  a  moi"  said  Toinette,  "  I 
am  persuaded  that  this  greenness  is  catch- 
ing—  fa  deteint,  positivement.  My  Lady 


ft  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


has  quite  a  little  shade  of  it  herself  this 
morning." 

Lady  Anne  reached  for  her  hand-mirror. 
Her  pretty  face  was  certainly  pale ;  but,  as 
for  the  tip  of  her  pretty  nose  —  well,  there 
was  no  green  there !  She  threw  the  mirror 
from  her:  the  reflection  was  insulting. 

"  Ma  foil  they  tell  that  England  is  a  free 
country;  but  to  me  it  seems  't  is  free  all 
on  one  side  —  all  for  the  gentlemen,  while 
the  poor  ladies,  they  are  slaves.  Ah,  't  is 
well  to  be  a  man  !  Monsieur  Clarence,  he 
say  —  " 

"  Monsieur  Clarence?  "  ejaculated  Lady 
Anne,  surprised  from  her  angry  thoughts. 

"  Monsieur  Clarence,  the  first  of  Milady's 
new  footmen,  he  says  if  Madame  not  go  to 
Town  he  gives  his  demission.  He  fears  he 
grow  too  rustic  for  his  vocation.  He  en- 
gaged, he  says,  to  see  life ;  and  here  he  sees 
nothing,  he  says,  but  vegetables." 

There  fell  a  pause.  Lady  Anne  vaguely 
felt  that  she  ought  to  rebuke  her  woman  for 
impertinence;  yet  she  had  already  spoilt  her 
too  much  to  venture. 

"  If  my  Lady  could  coax  Monsieur  to  take 

[29] 


JK  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  ® 

her  —  but  for  a  few  days  —  "  suggested  Toi- 
nette  insinuatingly.  "  If  only  my  Lady  had 
got  Monsieur  away,  all  to  herself  —  " 

"  Alas !  he  is  set.  Not  even  for  a  week 
with  my  dear  parents,"  cried  the  ill-used 
wife. 

"  del /"  ejaculated  Toinette,  sitting  down 
on  her  heels  and  clasping  her  brown  hands 
tragically.  "  Why,  my  Lady,  the  Countess- 
mother,  she  will  be  heart-broke ! " 

Toinette  fixed  her  beady  black  eyes  upon 
her  mistress.  Lady  Anne  looked  back,  and 
then,  for  no  apparent  reason,  coloured  to  the 
roots  of  her  fair  curls.  Yet,  if  ever  there 
were  a  laudable  aspiration,  it  would  be  that 
of  such  ardent  filial  duty. 

"And  Milord,"  said  Toinette,  dropping 
her  gaze  and  gingerly  picking  the  last  bit  of 
china  from  the  carpet. 

"  And  my  father  indeed,"  acquiesced  Lady 
Anne  rather  faintly. 

"  C est  a  riy  pas  croire"  asserted  the  sou- 
brette,  dabbing  a  cloth  into  the  chocolate. 
"And  Monsieur  appears  so  devoted,  so  mad 
in  love!  Ah!  it  is  all,  no  doubt,  the  old 
Madame." 

[30] 


jgf  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  ® 

Lady  Anne,  in  the  bed,  gulped  down  her 
chocolate,  that  she  might  not  dally  with 
the  irresistible  vindictive  comment :  "  Old 
cat!" 

"  Ah !  yes,  Milady ;  it  is  the  old  Madame. 
She  would  bury  Milady  here  in  the  green. 
Ah,  heavens,  that  eternal  green !  She  is 
jealous  of  Milady  with  Monsieur.  But  Mi- 
lady must  not  give  way." 

"  I  did  not,"  said  Lady  Anne,  with  a  slight 
glance  towards  the  floor. 

"  Milady  must  act." 

Lady  Anne  raised  herself  on  her  pillows 
and  looked  wonderingly  at  her  tirewoman. 
Act !  She  had  acted  to  some  purpose,  it 
seemed  to  her.  What  could  the  creature 
mean  ?  Again  Toinette  sat  back  and  con- 
templated her  work,  with  head  on  one 
side. 

"  There  will  always  be  one  great  stain," 
she  observed  philosophically.  Then  she 
rose  to  her  feet  and  looked  out  of  the 
window  at  the  crest-line  of  the  distant  trees, 
musingly. 

"  The  Reverend  and  his  wife  —  they  go  to 
London  to-day,"  she  remarked  with  apparent 

[31] 


gg  THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE  %& 

irrelevance,  after  a  pause.  "The  Reverend's 
lady  sent  up  to  know  if  my  Lady  have  any 
commission  for  the  Town." 

"  Dr.  Dutton  going  to  Town  ?  "  said  her 
Ladyship. 

"Mais out!"  Toinette  hitched  her  lace 
apron,  and  found  something  very  interesting 
to  do  with  one  of  its  rose-coloured  bows. 
"  Oh,  they  will  travel  in  the  grand  style. 
My  Lord  Valentia,  he  sends  a  carriage  up 
to  Town ;  and  so  the  Reverence,  he  gra- 
ciously says,  may  have  the  profit  of  the 
journey." 

Lady  Anne's  heart  suddenly  began  to 
beat  with  a  sense  of  impending  events. 

"  There  will  be  two  seats  to  spare." 
Toinette  dropped  her  apron,  came  over  to 
the  bed,  parted  the  curtains  at  the  foot,  and 
looked  in  upon  her  mistress,  a  pair  of  lively 
devils  dancing  in  her  orbs. 

"Toinette!" 

"  Is  not  my  Lady  anxious  about  the  health 
of  Madame  the  Countess-mere?" 

"  Oh,  Toinette  !  " 

"  Who  could  blame  a  daughter's  hastening 

O  O 

to  her  mother's  side  ?     My   Lady  has   had 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


correspondence.  Some  one  says  the  Coun- 
tess looks  so  suffering." 

Grief  vanished.  The  roses  began  to 
mount  angrily  to  Lady  Anne's  cheeks. 
Spoilt  French-bred  child  though  she  was, 
her  native  English  honesty  rebelled -against 
this  Gallic  guile.  The  tirewoman  was  quick 
to  see  that  she  had  overshot  her  point. 

"  It  would  serve  Monsieur  right,"  she 
hazarded  next.  The  change  of  tactics 
seemed  to  promise  more  success:  the  eyes 
of  the  mistress  began  to  flash.  "  Monsieur 
will  come  back  and  find  Madame  gone. 
Then  Monsieur  will  be  in  all  the  states  — 
Monsieur  so  mad  about  Madame !"  A  slight 
dimple  peeped  in  the  bride's  cheek.  "  Mon- 
sieur will  tear  his  hair."  Lady  Anne  com- 
pressed her  lips.  No  doubt  the  Squire  would 
tear  his  hair.  She  was  almost  resolved  upon 
the  experiment.  "'What  have  I  done?'  will 
Monsieur  cry.  He  will  turn  on  the  old 
Madame.  'What  have  you  made  me  do?' 
he  will  say  to  her  in  reproach  and  anger." 

Lady  Anne  sat  up  in  bed  and  tossed  her 
lace  cap  off  her  head :  yes,  she  would  risk  it. 

"  Then,"  resumed  the  artful  Toinette,  "  will 

3  [33] 


gg  THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE'gj 

Monsieur  go  galloping,  galloping,  up  to  the 
Town  after  Madame.  He  will  fall  at  her 
feet.  Ah,  but  then  it  is  she  will  have  it  all 
her  own  way  !  " 

"  Be  silent,  Toinette  !  Fetch  me  the  escri- 
toire. Bid  the  Rectory  messenger  wait." 

Lady  Anne  paused  awhile.  "  I  will  take 
the  larger  carriage-box,"  said  she  decisively. 


[34] 


CHAPTER   III 


GRAND  DIEU,  quelle 
catastrophe !  Hoity- 
toity!"  said  Lady 
Ongar,  "  what 's  to 
do  now  ? " 

_ v y      "  Pack  her  home," 

said  his  Lordship, 
without  looking  up 
from  his  papers. 

He  was  a  lean,  dry 
man,  of  few  words, 
whose  thoughts  were 
all  set  on  political 
importance,  and  to 
whom  his  family, 
with  their  foolish  and 

I •   •>  n  *  f | 

expensive     demands, 

seemed  little  but  a  burden.  It  was  not 
often  that  his  French  wife  —  the  second  lady 
of  his  choice  —  bearded  him  in  his  den. 
Even  when  in  urgent  need  of  money  she 
vastly  preferred  dealing  with  the  family 

[37] 


THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE 


steward,  according  to  the  custom  of  her 
country.  But  this  day's  emergency  was 
more  than  she  felt  herself  able  to  cope  with. 
That  the  only  one  of  their  children  settled  in 
life  —  and  so  successfully  to  boot  —  should 
come  back  to  their  impecunious  home  a 
runaway  wife,  and  demand  harbourage,  when 
Teresa  and  Sophia,  her  elderly  stepdaugh- 
ters, had  almost  lost  hope,  poor  things  ;  when 
Sukey  (of  her  own  batch),  Sukey  had  hardly 
had  her  innings  yet;  when  Deb  was  clamour- 
ing from  the  school-room  —  here  was  indeed 
a  serious  complication.  To  have  back  on 
their  hands  "the  Beauty"  who  put  all  the 
others  in  the  shade,  the  Beauty  with  but  a 
couple  of  guineas  in  her  purse,  and  a  rich 
husband  threatening  God  knew  what  in  the 
distance.  It  was  "  mon  Dieu  "  and  "  hoity- 
toity  "  indeed ! 

(Lady  Ongar  had  grafted  quaint  English 
expletives  upon  her  French  idiom.) 

"  Pack  her  back,"  said  Lord  Ongar,  and 
re-read  the  last  phrase  of  his  memorandum 
to  my  Lord  Rockingham. 

It  was  all  very  well  to  say  "  Pack  her 
back." 

[38] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY   ANNE 


"  But  she  will  not  go,"  the  Countess  in- 
formed him,  nearly  in  tears.  "And  then, 
mon  Dieu,  figure  yourself  the  scandal !  Who 
is  to  keep  quiet  \htjacascrus  —  the  petits 
potins  —  the  calumny  ?  " 

Lord  Ongar  looked  up  again  with  a  frown. 
Scandal !  —  Scandal  was  a  thing  he  could  not 
admit  in  connection  with  his  family.  Where 
was  the  delinquent  ? 

Lady  Ongar  dived  through  the  door  and 
dragged  in  a  half-frightened,  wholly  petulant 
Anne,  followed  by  a  highly  irate  Sukey ; 
the  latter  vowing  in  loud  tones  that  she 
would  speak  to  papa  herself.  Now,  if  truth 
be  told,  had  it  not  been  for  her  dignity,  Lady 
Anne  would  have  been  glad  enough  to  depart 
instantly  again  for  unappreciated  Queen's 
Compton.  It  had  certainly  never  entered  her 
calculations  that  the  all-important  Lady 
Anne  Day  could  be  received  and  treated  on 
her  return  home,  by  her  own  people,  neither 
more  nor  less  than  as  a  naughty  child.  Nor 
had  she  quite  realised  that  she  had,  it  seemed, 
committed  a  very  grievous  offence.  There- 
fore there  was  trepidation  in  her  heart, 
though  her  eyes  flashed  and  her  lips  pouted. 

[39] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY   ANNE 


She  was  gathering  all  her  forces  in  the  hope 
of  making  out  a  good  case  for  herself,  at 
least  to  her  father  (for  her  mother,  who  had 
had  the  first  explanation,  appeared  to  be 
unable  to  comprehend  anything),  when  the 
worthy  peer  took  the  wind  out  of  her  sails 
by  pronouncing  judgment  without  waiting 
for  the  pleading. 

"  Anne,  I  understand  that  you  have  left 
your  husband  without  his  permission.  I  am 
ashamed  that  a  daughter  of  mine  should  be- 
have in  so  foolish  and  undutiful  a  manner." 

"  'T  is  n't  fair  on  me,"  put  in  Sukey.  "  'T  is 
just  like  Nan's  selfishness.  She  has  a  hus- 
band of  her  own,  and  she  'd  like  to  keep  me 
from  getting  one  — " 

"  Silence,  ma  fille"  ordered  Lady  Ongar, 
without,  however,  any  effect  on  irrepressible 
Sukey,  who  shrilly  proclaimed  further  that 
if  Nan  went  to  Devonshire  House  to-night, 
she,  Sukey,  should  stay  at  home. 

Lord  Ongar  took  off  his  wig  and  flung  it 
on  the  table  before  him  —  a  sign  with  him  of 
the  utmost  exasperation. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Erminie,  turn  out 
that  girl  !  I  shall  have  the  tic  again,  and  my 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


party  is  counting  on  me  to-night.  As  for 
you,  Anne,  I  shall  send  a  post  to  your  hus- 
band to  come  and  fetch  you  instantly.  Till 
then,  and  no  longer,  you  can  remain  under 
my  roof." 

"  If  she  goes  to  the  rout  to-night  — "  re- 
asserted Sukey  from  outside  the  door. 

Lord  Ongar  flapped  his  hands  desper- 
ately; then  he  pronounced  his  fiat: 

"  Anne  shall  not  leave  this  house  again 
except  in  the  company  of  her  husband." 

The  blood  rushed  furiously  to  Lady  Anne's 
face,  then  ebbed  away,  leaving  it  unwontedly 
pale.  (Patience,  till  she  found  Sukey  by 
herself ! )  The  latter  young  lady  crowed  tri- 
umph from  without,  and  Lady  Anne  set  her 
teeth  upon  her  under  lip.  But  worse  was 
yet  to  come. 

"  Leave  me  now,"  said  her  father  sepul- 
chrally.  "  Affairs  of  state  await  my  con- 
sideration, and  I  must  even  now  dispatch 
this  letter." 

The  matron  had  another  apprehension. 
"  Mais  qui  sait  ?  Perchance  Philippe  —  he 
may  refuse  to  forgive  this  ungrateful  girl — " 

A   slight  smile  of  scorn  appeared  on  the 

[40 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


truant  wife's  lips.  She  tossed  her  head.  A 
likely  contingency  indeed! 

"  She  must  herself  write  to  him  and  hum- 
bly implore  forgiveness,"  added  Lord  Ongar, 
fixing  his  eye  witheringly  upon  her. 

Again  Anne  tossed  her  curls.  That  was 
more  likely  still ! 

If  life  had  taught  her  French  Ladyship  of 
Ongar  to  be  fertile  in  resources,  it  is  to  be 
feared  it  had  also  imparted  to  her  a  certain 
callousness  with  regard  to  truth. 

"If  the  little  stupid  one  likes  to  say  that 
't  was  the  toothache  I  '11  uphold  her.  Mon 
Dieu  !  She  must  tie  up  her  face,  and  we 
must  bid  Mr.  Borglum  to  come  and  extract 
a  tooth  —  a  tooth  at  the  back  !  " 

Lady  Anne  uttered  a  cry  of  horror  and 
fury. 

"  The  apothecary  will  tell  of  it  everywhere 
when  he  goes  to  pay  his  visits  to-morrow," 
pursued  Lady  Ongar  relentlessly,  "  and  voila, 
the  scandal  is  saved.  Allans,  I  '11  go  and 
get  thee  a  'kerchief,  Nan,"  she  concluded, 
raising  her  voice  to  drown  the  bride's 
expostulations. 

Lady  Anne  whisked  herself  away  from  the 

[4*] 


gg  THE    HEART    OF   LADY   ANNE  gg 

maternal  touch  —  a  perfect  tornado  of  pro- 
test and  defiance.  If  they  dared  to  touch 
her,  Philip  would  never  forgive  them.  She 
hated  them  all !  She  wished  she  had  never 
come !  She  would  write  to  Philip  herself  to 
come  and  fetch  her!  The  door  was  slammed 
upon  her  tempestuous  petticoat. 

Lord  Ongar  removed  his  neckcloth.  And, 
before  this  symptom,  the  Countess  herself 
beat  likewise  a  hasty  retreat.  Not  before, 
however,  she  had  the  vision  of  her  lord,  ris- 
ing in  his  seat,  with  one  arm  stiffly  extended  ; 
not  before  the  words,  preliminary,  it  would 
seem,  to  a  lengthy  discourse,  had  fallen  upon 
her  ear  — 

"  Ah !  Erminie,  had  it  not  been  for  this 
unhappy  French  education  .  .  .  ! " 

At  Queen's  Compton,  in  the  ancient  brown 
and  gold  library,  under  the  painted  gaze  of 
rows  of  staid  ancestors  and  the  sympathetic 
contemplation  of  his  favourite  dog  squatting 
on  a  chair  opposite  him,  Squire  Day  sat  in 
unwonted  studious  attitude  before  his  writ- 
ing-table, with  two  letters  open  before  him. 
His  head  was  propped  on  his  hands;  he  was 

[43] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


staring  by  turns  at  the  outspread  sheets. 
The  first  was  a  somewhat  lengthy  docu- 
ment, strangely  creased,  as  if  crumpled  by 
the  spasm  of  an  angry  grasp,  though  now 
again  carefully  smoothed  out.  It  referred  to 
"my  parents"  —  "the  obligations  of  filial 
duty"  —  "a  husband's  cruelty,"  and  ended 
up  with  "  Farewell,  Philip."  Its  sentiments 
were  grandiloquent  if  the  spelling  was  a  trifle 
capricious. 

The  second  letter  ran  in  few  words : 

Deare  Philip,  come  and  fetch  me  at  once. 

NAN. 

Occasionally  whistling  under  his  breath, 
after  a  long  period  of  reflection,  the  young 
man  seemed  finally  to  come  to  a  resolution. 
He  took  the  crumpled  missive,  tore  it  in 
pieces,  and  flung  it  on  the  floor  to  join 
some  other  fragments  which  represented  the 
courier  of  his  noble  parents-in-law. 

"  Toothache,"  looked  up  at  him  from  one 
three-cornered  bit  (in  Lady  Ongar's  own 

slender  French  hand),  "  Wifely  subm " 

winked  at  him  from  another,  in  his  father-in- 
law's  gouty  caligraphy.  The  Squire  kicked 

[44] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


the  heap  with  scornful  foot  as  he  rose  from 
his  seat. 

The  smaller  billet  he  weighed  a  moment 
in  his  palm  and  finally  folded  and  thrust  into 
his  pocket.  He  now  whistled  out  loud  as  he 
strode  out  of  the  library  stablewards ;  but 
the  unwonted  gravity,  not  to  say  gloom, 
upon  his  countenance  did  not  lighten,  even 
in  these  congenial  surroundings.  He  made 
rapid  review  of  all  his  saddle-horses,  and 
picked  out  a  sturdy  half-blood  upon  which 
it  was  his  intention  to  start  with  all  dispatch 
to  London  Town. 


[45] 


H 


CHAPTER   IV 


^f 


ADY    ANNE    looked    askance 
upon       her     companion. 
They    had    passed    Ham- 
mersmith    Common     and 
reached    Turnham   Green. 
The  way  had   been    deso- 
late enough  ;  they  had  left 
the  idle  starers  of  the  town 
long  behind.     Toinette  sat 
in  the  rumble :  her  mistress 
had  had  her  own  idea  in 
insisting  upon  this.     Hus- 
band and  wife  had  there- 
fore   the    chaise   all    to 
themselves,    the   road    all 
to  themselves;  the  hour 
seemed     propitious.       She 
herself  had  quite  got  over  her  not  unreason- 
able   pet    at  being   expected   to  travel  in  a 
hired    chaise,  when    her   own    greys    might 
have  been   made  use  of  with  but  a  trifling 
[49] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


expenditure  of  time,  of  which  surely  the 
travellers  had  enough  to  spare. 

Where  were  the  Squire's  transports,  where 
the  gratitude  at  his  Nan's  condescension  ? 
Where  the  joy  of  their  reunion  ?  She  had 
expected  another  wedding  journey.  Along 
the  self-same  road  they  progressed.  And, 
as  she  minded,  here  was  that  tree  passing 
which  he  had  held  her  so  close ;  there, 
that  turn  of  the  road  where  he  had  gone 
into  a  trance  over  her  little  foot ;  yonder, 
the  very  inn  where  he  had  been  forced  to  un- 
clasp her,  yet  retained  her  hand  tenderly 
under  the  cloak  and  pressed  it  all  the  while 
the  post-boys  drank.  His  present  attitude 
seemed  to  her  strange  indeed;  and,  sooth  to 
say,  not  at  all  to  her  taste. 

The  Squire  was  looking  out  of  window 
with  abstracted  gaze.  If  he  had  had  George 
coachman  beside  him,  he  could  not  have 
seemed  more  utterly  indifferent.  Now,  as 
she  began  to  think  over  recent  events,  un- 
easiness laid  hold  of  her.  He  had  arrived  in 
Town  the  night  before,  and  had  lain  at  a 
hostelry  in  Haymarket.  How  was  it  that 
this  proceeding  had  not  struck  her  before? 

[50] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


In  the  whirl  of  their  meeting,  under  the  family 
eye,  he  had  scarce  spoken  to  her.  There 
was  nothing  odd  in  that,  however:  Philip 
had  ever  been  silent  before  her  parents. 
When,  disdaining  all  adventitious  excuses 
(the  toothache  was  repudiated,  likewise  the 
bandage,  even  though  Lady  Ongar  had  given 
in  on  the  subject  of  the  threatened  extrac- 
tion), she  had  flung  herself  into  his  arms, 
crying,  "  Take  me  home,  Phil,  take  me 
home !  "  she  had  flattered  herself  that  here 
was  the  most  graceful  amends  it  was  pos- 
sible to  conceive,  and  that  only  an  excess  of 
emotion  had  kept  her  husband  from  making 
any  other  reply  than  that  of  holding  her 
close.  He  had  held  her  close,  as  she  remem- 
bered now,  with  a  revival  of  the  triumph 
which  had  induced  her  then  to  make  a  gri- 
mace of  scorn  and  derision  over  his  shoulder 
at  envious  Sukey — Sukey,  who,  to  be  sure, 
had  come  to  spy  the  interview,  hoping  to  see 
the  runaway  soundly  rated. 

On  the  strength  of  this  pleasing  memory 
Lady  Anne  turned  coquettishly  to  her  spouse 
and  laid  a  finger  on  his  arm.  In  an  instant 
he  was  all  attention.  Did  she  want  any- 


THE    HEART   OF   LADY  ANNE 


thing?  Was  she  cold?  Was  she  too  hot? 
Did  she  desire  an  added  mantle  or  a  more 
open  window? 

It  was  the  folding  of  his  arms  about  her 
that  the  little  lady  desired :  it  was  the  open- 
ing of  that  pent-up  heart.  But  these  wishes, 
of  course,  no  self-respecting  wife  can  ex- 
press. Therefore,  to  keep  him  at  least  oc- 
cupied about  her,  she  had  to  be  cold  and  then 
warm  and  then  weary ;  to  change  places 
with  him,  to  try  the  effect  of  another 
cushion,  to  rest  her  little  feet,  in  their  pretty 
buckled  shoes,  upon  the  opposite  seat,  art- 
fully peeping  from  furbelows  and  flounces. 
Never  a  glance,  however,  did  the  man  cast 
in  the  alluring  direction.  When  his  eyes 
rested  upon  her,  there  was  something  in 
them  now  that  she  most  sadly  missed. 
And  there  was  also  something  now  that 
she  could  very  well  have  spared. 

Her  position  lacking  grace,  even  in  her 
own  eyes,  she  thought  to  improve  it  by 
feigning  sleep.  She  had  had  but  poor 
nights  of  late:  for  Sukey,  who  objected  to 
her  presence,  had  taken  good  care  always 
to  keep  the  middle  of  the  bed.  And  lulled 

[5*1 


THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


now  by  the  motion  of  the  carriage  and  the 
enforced  tedium,  feint  soon  became  reality. 

She  woke  up  as  rosy  as  a  child,  to  find 
their  journey  nearly  concluded. 

The  shades  of  evening  had  begun  to  fall, 
and  they  were  drawing  close  to  home.  And 
the  prospect  of  Queen's  Compton,  majesti- 
cally isolated  though  it  was,  somehow  as- 
sumed a  very  different  aspect  in  her  mind 
from  that  of  a  few  days  ago.  She  thought 
of  its  space  and  luxury,  its  antique  splen- 
dours and  latter-day  comforts  almost  with 
tenderness,  as  contrasted  with  the  shabbi- 
ness,  the  gloom,  the  mixture  of  haphazard 
slovenliness  and  rigid  economy,  which  char- 
acterised the  paternal  mansion.  To  reign 
there  as  a  little  queen  was,  after  all,  better 
than  to  be  the  unwelcome  guest  of  the 
crowded  London  mansion.  The  prospect 
of  passing  most  of  her  days,  even  the  season 
weeks,  in  this  her  palace  appeared  almost 
a  tolerable  prospect;  and  her  childish  heart 
besfan  to  turn  with  mere  real  warmth  than 

o 

it  had  perhaps  yet  felt  towards  him  who  was 
the  giver  of  so  many  good  things. 

And  as   her   pretty  foot  once  more  took 

[53] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


possession  of  the  home  Squire  Day  had 
dedicated  to  her  for  life,  the  wave  of  long- 
ing for  his  love  and  a  tenderness  towards 
him  came  over  her  with  fresh  force.  It 
was  strangely  uncomfortable  for  a  queen 
to  have  the  chief  of  her  subjects  in  this  de- 
tached mood.  Not,  indeed,  that  she  could 
accuse  him  of  being  unkind  —  she  would 
have  preferred  that.  Quarrel  would  have 
suited  her  infinitely  better.  Never  had  he 
been  more  careful  of  her  comfort,  more 
studiously  at  her  service !  But  the  lover, 
the  comrade  —  where  was  he?  Bah!  she 
would  be  a  poor  thing  if  she  could  not 
win  him  back,  though  without  derogation 
from  her  high-set  throne ! 

As  she  doffed  her  travelling  gear  before 
the  "  Psyche "  in  her  room  (where  two 
laughing  Cupids  held  bunches  of  pink  wax 
candles  to  illumine  the  fairest  reflection  that 
had,  certes,  ever  flashed  from  crystal)  the 
vision  of  her  own  countenance  could  not 
but  inspire  confidence.  A  little  pale  it  was 
after  these  many  emotions  and  the  long 
travel,  but  this  pallor  was  not  unbecoming. 

"  Toinette ! "    she    cried,    twisting    round 

[54] 


&  THE    HEART   OF   LADY   ANNE  & 

upon  a  very  sullen,  not  to  say  rebelliously 
ill-tempered  soubrette,  whose  twitching  fin- 
gers could  scarcely  be  restrained  from  snap- 
ping her  mistress's  garments  from  her  back. 
"  Toinette,  bid  Giles  to  serve  supper  in  the 
boudoir,  and  beg  your  master  to  favour  me 
with  his  company  there  in  half  an  hour. 
And  then  hurry  back.  I  will  put  on  the 
white  satin  sacque  with  the  pink  quilted  pet- 
ticoat and  the  Mechlin  lace.  Well,  etes 
vous  sourde,  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

Toinette 's  beady  eyes  were  fixed  in  utter 
amazement  upon  her  mistress.  She  had 
heard,  but  could  not  credit  the  evidence  of 
her  ears.  Lady  Anne  had  to  repeat  the 
order,  and  with  some  sharpness.  Then, 
shrugging  her  plump  shoulders,  casting  up 
her  hands  and  rolling  the  same  black  orbs, 
Toinette  left  the  apartment  in  a  series  of 
protesting  jerks.  Of  a  surety  her  Ladyship 
was  a  little  mad.  Mon  Dieu!  No  wonder 
Englishmen  were  tyrants.  How  would  not 
her  former  lady  (of  Versailles)  have  treated 
the  mart  recalcitrant!  Supper  in  the  bou- 
doir— passe  encore.  And  had  there  been  a 
joli  cavalier  handy  —  a  la  bonne  heure.  But 

[55] 


^  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  $& 

Monsieur  —  a  la  porte,  Monsieur  —  ah,  for 
sure,  yes  —  a  la  porte!  until  he  whined  to 
be  let  in,  like  a  dog. 

Lady  Anne  fastened  a  pink  rose  in  the 
curls  above  her  ear.  And,  looking  like 
nothing  more  than  a  pink-and-white  flower 
herself,  she  tripped  into  her  pink-and-white 
boudoir  upon  the  most  confident  feet  in  all 
the  world.  Toinette's  very  lip  of  disdain, 
each  of  that  damsel's  sarcastic  glances,  had 
but  pointed  her  mistress's  success.  If  ever 
she  had  been  irresistible,  the  Vertcceur 
beauty  was  irresistible  to-night.  Her  smile 
and  the  gleam  of  her  eye  in  concert  spoke 
triumph ;  she  broke  in  upon  waiting  Philip, 
as  the  rose  of  dawn  on  a  dark  sky. 

So  occupied  with  her  own  effect  was  she 
that  she  hardly  paused  to  note  how  her  hus- 
band received  the  shock  of  so  much  loveli- 
ness. He  certainly  looked  at  her  very  hard 
as  she  came  in,  and  that  was  enough  for 
Nan.  All  rustling  silks  and  little  airs  and 
graces,  she  settled  herself  in  her  seat.  Old 
Giles  stared  too.  And  Clarence,  the  disap- 
pointed, could  scarce  lift  the  covers,  so 
engaged  was  he  upon  the  apparition. 

[56] 


gg  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

"  I  think,"  said  my  Lady  coquettishly, 
"  that  we  may  dispense  with  the  servants' 
presence  to-night.  Can  we  not,  Philip  ?  " 

The  Squire  made  sign  of  the  hand,  with- 
out otherwise  replying.  And  in  another 
moment  they  were  alone. 

"  Will  you  have  mince,  my  love  ? "  said 
the  lady.  "'Tis  the  recipe  of  my  uncle,  the 
Grand  Chambellan.  Supreme  —  that  is  how 
he  dubbed  it."  She  helped  from  the  dish 
before  her,  with  a  great  play  of  wrist. 
"  Nay,  do  not  stir,"  she  proceeded.  "  It  is 
my  pleasure  to  attend  on  my  guest ;  for  you 
are  my  guest  to-night,  are  you  not,  Sir?" 
She  was  bending  over  him  with  all  her 
filmy  laces;  one  long  perfumed  curl  brush- 
ing his  cheek. 

"What's  that?"  said  the  Squire,  moving 
a  little  from  the  contact,  and  rubbing  the 
said  cheek,  as  he  might  have  done  had  some 
tiresome  fly  lighted  upon  it.  "  Nay,  my 
dear,  thank  you.  None  of  these  kickshaws 
for  me.  I  see  that  here  is  some  spiced  beef 
of  my  mother's  good  old  English  recipe; 
'twill  suit  my  palate  better." 

With  a  whisk,  Lady  Anne  withdrew  the 

[57J 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  £g 

despised  supreme  and  set  it  down  in  her  own 
place.  She  began  to  pick  at  it  herself,  in 
some  dudgeon.  'T  was  a  most  dainty  dish 
for  the  nibbling  of  a  poetic  lady  —  creamy- 
white  and  velvety,  with  a  subtle  perfume  of 
green  pistachios  —  but  it  might  have  been 
sawdust,  for  all  she  tasted  to-night.  She 
looked  across  the  table  with  resentful  eyes 
at  her  Squire.  Positively,  he  had  not  even 
changed  his  travelling  garb :  what  a  com- 
panion for  a  lady's  boudoir !  As  she 
looked,  he  suddenly  —  yes,  he  stifled  a 
yawn.  Ah,  my  God,  why  had  she  ever  left 
Versailles? 

Philip  Day  suddenly  looked  up,  caught 
his  wife's  glance,  and  smiled.  He  was,  in 
truth,  sadly  tired,  poor  man.  His  comely 
fresh  countenance  was  worn  and  spent.  He 
had  passed  most  of  the  night  in  the  saddle, 
determined  as  he  was  to  leave  his  wife  not 
an  hour  longer  in  London  than  he  could 
help.  A  hundred  and  twenty  miles,  taking 
it  all,  had  he  ridden  and  posted  within  the 
thirty-six  hours.  Very  little  food  had  passed 
his  lips,  no  sleep  had  descended  on  his  eyes; 
for  anger  and  grief  went  deep  with  him,  for 

[58] 


MIGHTY   SORE  AT   HEART'  —  Page  59 


COPYRIGHT,      1905,    BY     F.     A.     STOKES     CO. 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


all  his  taciturnity  on  the  subject.  Now  he 
was  both  hungry  and  tired,  and  still  mighty 
sore  at  heart.  It  was  small  wonder,  per- 
haps, that  the  pink-and-white  vision  should 
fail  of  its  purpose. 

"You  're  very  fine  to-night,  Nan,"  said  he, 
as  he  smiled,  "  and  Queen's  Compton  should 
be  prodigiously  flattered.  But  are  not  these 
fallals  something  out  of  place  ?  Have  you 
not,  among  all  your  things,  a  cambric  or  a 
muslin  ?  We  hardly  know  what  to  make  of 
such  fine  ladies  in  the  country." 

Anne  bit  her  swelling  lip.  Her  dishes 
were  kickshaws,  her  gowns  fallals ! 

Squire  Day  devoted  himself  to  his  spiced 
beef  with  a  good  appetite. 

"  You  would  wish  to  see  me  robed  like 
your  mother,  no  doubt,"  said  her  Ladyship, 
as  soon  as  she  could  command  her  voice 
sufficiently  to  speak. 

He  rose  from  his  chair,  and  helped  him- 
self liberally  from  a  jug  of  home-brewed  that 
stood,  quaintly  enough,  upon  an  inlaid  Buhl 
table  behind  him,  by  the  side  of  the  gold- 
leafed  bottle  of  Sillery. 

"  I    think,"  he   said,    passing   the    napkin 

[59] 


gS  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  £g 

over  his  white-frothed  lips,  "  I  think,  my 
little  woman,  that  you  could  learn  a  good 
many  things  from  my  mother  and  be  none 
the  worse  from  it." 

He  spoke  kindly;  almost  tenderly,  indeed. 
But  had  he  ransacked  through  his  honest 
mind  for  a  phrase  better  calculated  to  exas- 
perate the  poor  Court  beauty  he  could  scarce 
have  found  it. 

"  I  wonder  why  you  ever  sought  me  out !  " 
she  cried  in  a  choking  voice. 

"  Sometimes  I  wonder  at  it  too,"  he  an- 
swered her. 

Now  a  gleam  of  the  old  ardour  had  come 
back  to  his  eyes  as  he  looked  upon  her  say- 
ing this,  and  his  bantering  tone  was  but  one 
of  loving  mockery.  Had  she  been  less  morti- 
fied in  her  vanity,  less  determined,  therefore, 
to  take  offence,  she  must  have  felt  the  hid- 
den caress  of  the  words,  and  the  next  instant 
have  been  in  his  arms.  As  it  was,  she 
chose  to  consider  herself  insulted,  and  flung 
him  anger  from  her  blue  eyes.  She  sprang 
up  from  her  chair  and  ran,  suffocating,  into 
her  own  apartment,  never  doubting  but  that 
he  would  be  after  her  in  an  instant,  stam- 
[60] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


mering  apologies  and  protestations  which  it 
would  be  her  pleasure  to  rebuff  till  he  be 
reduced  to  proper  despair. 

He  looked  after  her  with  a  sigh;  and 
smiled  again,  half  indulgently,  half  wearily. 

"  They  have  spoiled  the  sweetest  child 
that  ever  breathed,  with  their  French  non- 
sense," said  he  to  himself.  "  Well,  I  must 
teach  her  her  lesson,"  sighing  again. 
"She'll  come  to  my  call  yet."  He  leaned 
his  tired  head  on  his  hand. 

Within,  Anne  waited.  She  had  left  the 
door  ajar.  At  first  the  beating  of  her  own 
heart  drowned  all  other  sounds;  but,  as  it 
calmed  down  dully,  the  silence  became  op- 
pressive. Presently  she  sat  on  her  divan, 
and  gave  herself  to  the  rarest  of  all  occupa- 
tions with  her  —  that  of  reflection.  In  a 
little  while  the  angry,  woe-begone  expression 
faded  from  her  features.  A  small  engaging 
smile  began  to  dimple  her  lips.  (Perhaps 
the  Squire  was  right  in  thinking  she  was  the 
sweetest  child  in  all  the  world.)  She  crept 
on  .tiptoe  towards  the  door,  and  closed  it 
with  precaution.  And  then,  after  locking 
the  outer  door  to  guard  against  Toinette's 
[61] 


gj  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  jgj 

intrusion,  she  proceeded  to  divest  herself  of 
her  laces  and  taffetas  with  hasty  fingers. 

From  the  depths  of  the  cedar-wood  press 
'she  now  carefully  selected  a  muslin  wrapper 
of  the  most  delicate  simplicity.  The  dim- 
ples deepened  as  she  donned  it  before  the 
mirror.  Then,  after  pulling  the  magnificent 
erection  of  her  headdress  to  pieces,  she 
shook  her  curls  loose  over  her  shoulders, 
brushed  the  powder  from  their  corn-yellow 
as  well  as  she  could,  and  once  more  bent 
her  steps  towards  the  boudoir.  It  was  a 
smiling,  blushing  Nan,  gentle,  timid,  ador- 
ably ashamed,  that  peeped  into  the  pink- 
and-white  room. 

Alas!  Philip  neither  looked  up  nor 
stirred.  With  his  head  upon  his  hand,  he 
was  fast  asleep. 

Nan  stared  a  second,  hardly  able  to  be- 
lieve her  eyes.  Asleep,  and  she  had  been 
well-nigh  in  tears  when  she  left  him !  They 
had  parted  in  anger,  and  he  could  sleep 
while  she  —  she  — 

The  injured  wife  closed  the  door  with  a 
slam  calculated  to  awaken  the  Seven  Sleepers. 
All  was  over !  She  rushed  to  the  further 

[62] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


door  and  unlocked  it,  and  set  the  bell  peal- 
ing furiously  for  Toinette. 

"  I  go  to  bed,"  she  informed  the  woman 
briefly. 

The  latter  flung  an  acute  look  at  her 
mistress,  and  sagaciously  perceived  that  now 
was  not  the  moment  for  any  observations. 

When  the  yellow-curled  head  was  on  the 
pillow,  the  lady,  in  a  hard  voice,  gave  her 
last  orders  — 

"  Pousse  le  verrou  du  boudoir,  ma  fille  — 
et  mets  en  poche  la  clef  de  rautre  porte.  I 
am  exhausted  with  fatigue,  and  so  you  will 
not  disturb  me  in  the  morning." 

The  Frenchwoman  smiled  grimly  to  her- 
self as  she  pushed  the  bolt.  She  chuckled 
out  loud  in  the  passage  as  she  pocketed  the 
key. 


•H- 


CHAPTER   V 


Y  little  dear  friend  [wrote  Lady 
Kilcroney],  you  give  me  no  an- 
swer about  the  mansion  in  St. 
James's  Square,  yet  it  is  the  very 
place  for  you.  I  have  bid  the 
creatures,  on  their  lives,  close 
with  no  other  bargain  till  your 
word  comes.  And  now  I  hear 
that  you  have  been  in  Town  and 
gone  back !  And  I  would  not 
credit  it  were  it  not  't  was  your 
own  mother  told  me.  The  dear 
lady  prated  I  know  not  what  of 
toothache;  but  then  blushed  and 
grew  confused  when  I  pressed 
the  question  and  told  her  't  was 
not  like  my  Nan  to  have  aught 
wrong  with  her  pretty  teeth,  or 
—  what  more  nearly  touches 
me  —  with  her  own  true  heart.  And  yet  your 
heart  would  be  much  amiss  if  you  could  come  so 
near  me  and  give  no  sign !  So,  as  Kilcroney 
says  —  you  know  his  Irish  way  —  'tis  evidently 
not  in  your  rosy  mouth  the  shoe  pinches.  And, 
indeed,  my  dear,  I  scent,  to  use  your  French 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY   ANNE 


proverbs,  angnille  sous  roche.  And  that  same 
eel  —  or,  let  me  be  more  appropriate,  that  rock  — 
is,  I  take  it,  the  Squire,  your  husband. 

What  do  the  little  birds  whisper  of  a  country 
gentleman  galloping  all  night  to  tear  his  bride 
from  her  very  parents'  arms  and  carry  her  with  him 
back  to  the  depths  of  the  country  ?  A  green  bride- 
groom—  a  Bluebeard  —  so  fond,  so  jealous,  so  ex- 
acting !  Ah,  my  love,  you  do  well  to  come  to  me 
in  your  troubles  !  How  well  I  know  the  creatures  ! 
Could  I  not  write  a  book  of  rules  for  young  wives? 
But,  la,  'twould  never  do  to  give  away  my  secrets, 
and  my  Kilcroney  knows  not  yet  (nor  shall  ever) 
hoiv  he  is  led,  nor  even  that  he  is  led.  The  dear 
fool  is  beginning  to  think  he  is  a  tyrant.  Oh,  Nan, 
how  much  you  have  to  learn ! 

Well,  your  letter  lies  before  me ;  the  letter 
penned  last  week  before  this  sudden  secret  visit  to 
the  Town.  You  tell  me,  poor  soul,  that  your 
Squire  has  vowed  by  all  his  rural  deities  that  he 
will  make  an  English  country-wife  of  French  Nan. 
You  tell  me  that  he  has  a  prodigious  dame  of  a 
mother  who  is  teaching  you  to  churn !  Why, 
what  is  the  world  coming  to?  Does  he  think  a 
rose  of  Trianon  will  turn  cabbage  at  his  bidding? 
You  vow,  however,  that  you  can  manage  him  and 
will  have  your  season  yet,  and  that  I  am  to  seek 
you  a  house.  And  now  your  own  silence — your 
mother's  determined  assertion  —  "mats  non,  pas 
question  de  quitter  la  campagne  "  — inform  me  that 
[68] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


you  have  failed.  Fie!  My  dear,  I  will  not  admit 
failure  for  my  sex !  Why  not  come  to  me  for  a 
week,  or  longer,  if  you  will  —  or  as  long,  indeed,  as 
it  may  pleasure  your  heart?  Young  husbands  and 
obstinate  Squires  should  be  made  to  understand  the 
difference  between  Versailles  flowers  and  Hamp- 
shire cabbages.  It  would  do  no  harm,  I  take  it,  to 
let  your  monster  study  this  text  in  solitude  —  or  in 
no  better  company  than  his  good  mother  of  dairy 
fame.  Heavens !  my  sweet  love,  how  I  hate  that 
woman  out  of  my  love  for  you  !  Anne,  you  posi- 
tively must  see  the  mansion  in  St.  James's  Square. 
Who  knows?  You  will  be  gay  in  my  house,  ma 
petite  belle  Anne,  and  a  little  jealousy  in  the  matri- 
monial heart  —  it  has  been  known  to  work  wonders. 
Chut!  chut!  When  we  wives  conspire  we  must 
even  write  in  whispers ! 

Answer  me  "  Yes,"  Nan  ;  or,  better  still,  answer 
me  in  person.  Your  rooms  are  ready,  and  my 
saucy  slut  of  a  Lydia  is  sharpening  her  nails 
against  the  coming  of  your  French  minx. 

Your  expectant  and  devoted  K.  K. 

Thus  Kitty  Kilcroney,  the  richest  and 
most  popular  woman  in  London  this  season, 
who,  on  a  brief  visit  to  Paris,  had  sworn 
sudden  but  tender  friendship  with  Lady 
Anne  Vertcoeur  that  was  then  —  Squire 
Day's  Nan  that  was  now. 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


Lady  Anne  read  the  letter  with  vague 
eyes ;  sighed,  smiled,  laughed  a  little,  was 
interested  in  spite  of  herself;  and  then  cast 
it  on  one  side. 

Dressed  at  an  unwonted  early  hour,  she 
had  broken  her  fast  alone.  She  had  not 
seen  the  Squire  since  she  had  looked  with 
so  much  disfavour  upon  his  sleeping  counte- 
nance the  night  before.  And  now  she  ex- 
pected their  next  meeting  with  a  beating 
heart.  How  angry  he  would  be!  Oh,  how 
angry ! 

But  she  did  not  care.  Had  she  not  a 
right  to  be  angry  too  ?  In  truth  she  ex- 
pected la  grande  scene.  She  desired  it. 
Must  it  not  end  up  with  a  passionate  recon- 
ciliation? Yet  the  sound  of  his  voice  on 
the  terrace  beneath  made  her  start.  She 
held  her  breath,  hiding  behind  the  curtain, 
peeping,  and  listening.  Alack  !  French  Nan, 
so  far,  had  failed  to  forecast  in  the  least 
particular  what  her  English  husband's  atti- 
tude would  be. 

His  voice  rang  out  cheerfully.  He  was 
walking  and  talking  with  the  dame,  his 
mother  —  Laughing  too !  A  sob  rose  in 

[70] 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE   gg 

Lady  Anne's  throat.  She  could  see  them 
now :  Philip,  fresh,  handsome,  gay ;  the  old 
lady's  smooth,  apple-blossomed  cheek,  under 
the  shade  of  her  garden-hat,  the  strings  of  her 
goffered  cap  tied  under  her  substantial  chin. 

"  And  where  is  Anne  ?  "  her  mother-in-law 
was  saying  in  good-humoured,  commanding 
tones,  halting  beneath  the  window  and  look- 
ing up.  "  Must  I  not  scold  the  naughty 
baggage  for  this  escapade  ?  " 

"  Nan  !  "  answered  Philip,  with  a  laugh  - 
a  quite  heart-whole  laugh.     "  Why,  the  little 
puss  has  scarce  begun  to  lick  up  her  choco- 
late yet,  if,  indeed,  she  be  awake." 

"  Ah,  Phil,"  said  Mrs.  Day  solemnly, 
"scold  her  for  these  late  hours - 

And  he  answered  her,  his  voice  fading  as 
they  drew  away :  "  She  has  much  to  learn, 
never  fear,  but  I  shall  teach  her  yet  —  teach 
her  with  a  kiss  —  " 

Nan  clenched  her  hand  and  stamped. 
She  hated  them  —  oh,  how  she  hated  them! 
So  did  they  speak  of  her  ?  With  such  easy 
contempt,  as  if  she  were  the  veriest  child. 

With  a  pounce,  not  unlike  the  puss  to 
which  her  husband  had  mockingly  compared 

[71] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


her,  she  flung  herself  on  Lady  Kilcroney's 
letter  again.  With  new  eyes  she  read  it: 
and  new  intentions  sprouted  in  her  mind. 

A  light  swinging  tread,  accompanying  a 
humming  song,  came  down  the  corridor. 
He  could  hum,  he  could  laugh,  he  could 
joke!  He  looked  so  brisk  and  rested  —  and 
she  had  not  slept  a  wink  all  night !  She 
had  cried  till  she  was  a  positive  fright. 
She  was  to  be  taught,  with  a  kiss,  forsooth ! 
Nay,  't  was  he  should  learn,  and  not  with 
kisses.  How  was  it  Kitty  put  it  ?  Kitty 
knew,  if  any  one  did.  Had  she  not  had 
experience  —  both  of  an  old  husband  and 
a  young?  Who  could  advise  better  than 
Kitty  Kilcroney,  the  celebrated  Kitty  Bellairs 
that  was,  of  whom  the  worldly  fame  had  been 
so  wide  ? 

One  less  childish  than  French  Nan,  one 
with  soberer  blood  in  her  veins,  would  have 
instantly  perceived  that  Squire  Day's  cheer- 
fulness scarcely  rang  as  true  as  usual ;  that 
his  breeziness  was  somewhat  elaborate.  In- 
deed, he  had  passed  the  first  part  of  his  night 
of  exile  in  as  fine  a  passion  as  even  she  could 
have  desired.  But  after  some  reposeful  sleep 

[72] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


had  come  better  counsels.  His  wife  was 
still  a  child  —  a  spoilt  child  at  that ;  she 
should  be  controlled  and  guided,  with  all 
tenderness ;  taught,  indeed,  with  a  kiss. 
Now  that  he  had  her  safe  back  again, 
Heaven  preserve  that  he  should  play  the 
pedagogue  !  Let  her  have  her  tantrums  — 
she  would  the  sooner  weary  of  them  when 
she  found  they  altered  in  no  way  his  serenity 
of  humour.  As  to  those  drawn  bolts,  he 
would  not  pretend  to  have  noticed  them, 
that  she  might  be  the  sooner  ashamed  of 
such  petty  vengeance.  The  foolish,  pettish 
dear!  If  she  was  to  sulk  every  time  he  fell 
asleep  after  a  hard  day's  riding,  what  would 
it  be  when  the  hunting  began  ?  Nay,  by 
that  time,  't  was  to  be  hoped,  the  French- 
woman would  have  learned  good  English 
simplicity,  and  the  fine  Versailles  lady  have 
been  transformed  into  the  country  Squire's 
helpmate.  As  to  her  recent  escapade,  't  was 
over  and  done  with,  and  all  resentment  was 
already  fading  from  his  wholesome  nature. 
On  that  subject  he  would  never  utter  a 
single  reproach. 

It  was  in  this  generous  mood,  in  this  de- 

[73] 


Si  THE    HEART   OF   LADY  ANNE  gg 

termined  wise  humour,  that  he  entered  the 
boudoir,  and  found  awaiting  him  a  very 
spitfire. 

"  Good  den  to  you,  Nan,"  was  his  greet- 
ing. He  flung  an  arm  about  her ;  felt  her 
rigid  unresponsiveness,  and  drew  back  to 
look  at  her  with  countenance  changing. 
"Still  in  the  sulks?"  quoth  he,  all  his  good 
resolutions  slipping  away.  Then,  catching 
himself,  and  with  another  quick  alteration 
of  tone:  "Art  pale  this  morning,  child! 
Hast  slept  ill  ?  "  His  voice  wavered  towards 
tenderness. 

But  she,  galled  to  the  quick  (ye  gods, 
how  clumsy  are  the  best-intentioned  men 
at  times  !):  "  I  pale  ?  "  she  cried.  "  T  is  but 
the  reflection  of  your  odious  trees.  I  have 
had  a  notable  good  night,  thank  you.  A 
better  night  than  Queen's  Compton  has  been 
wont  to  afford  me." 

"  Nay,  then,  't  is  good  hearing,"  retorted  he. 
He  was,  after  all,  as  young  a  husband  as  she 
a  wife  !  "  For  I  too  have  slept  like  the  famed 
Seven.  We  should  both  feel  mighty  good- 
tempered  this  morning,"  he  added  with  a 
satiric  laugh. 

[74] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


She  yawned,  for  all  answer  —  curling  up 
her  small  rosy  tongue  like  the  little  cat  she 
was.  He  stood,  looking  at  her,  as  some 
mastiff  might  regard  a  quarrelsome  puss, 
ready  to  growl  or  to  wag  his  tail  according 
to  her  mood,  but  with  no  sort  of  intention  of 
hurting  the  incomprehensible  thing. 

She  shot  him  a  sidelong  look,  all  her  claws 
out.  Then  she  spat  the  first  defiance  - 

"  'T  is  a  vast  pity  that  you  hurried  me  thus 
out  of  London  yesterday." 

"How,  now?" 

"  Why,  in  the  first  place,  you  were  so 
prodigious  fatigued,  Sir." 

"  Did  you  hear  me  complain  ?  " 

"  Why,  no  offence —  no  offence  in  sooth !  " 
she  tittered  acidly.  "  If  my  wifely  solici- 
tude—" 

"  Oh,  Nan  !     Wifely  solicitude  !  " 

"  Yes,  Sir,  I  am  with  you  there  -  -  't  is 
prodigious  misplaced.  You  were  not  fa- 
tigued last  night  —  you  were  but  out  of 
manners.  Well,  you  will  grant  me  liberty 
to  regret  a  useless  journey  on  my  own 
account,  I  trust  — " 

He   drew  a   chair   to   the  table   and   sat 

[75] 


^  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

down,  his  chin  upon  his  clenched  hand,  fix- 
ing her  intently  with  his  eyes.  She  might 
have  been  warned  by  the  cold  airs  of  com- 
posure that  were  settling  upon  him.  She 
might  have  been  warned,  but  Nan  was  of 
those  who  have  to  be  taught  by  experience. 
He  did  not  speak,  but  waited  for  her  to  pro- 
ceed. And  this  she  presently  did,  with  some 
difficulty  and  all  the  more  petulance. 

"  Had  you  not  been  in  this  desperate 
hurry,  Sir,  in  that  massacring  post-chaise 
of  yours,  I  should  not  now  have  all  the 
fatigue  of  the  return  journey  before  me." 

Still  the  waiting  eyes  and  the  ominous 
tranquillity.  Why  did  he  not  speak  ?  She 
must  scratch  deeper,  then  ;  for  this  was  more 
than  an  angry  kitten  could  endure. 

"My  Lady  Kilcroney  has  done  me  the 
honour  to  invite  me  to  her  house  in 
London - 

She  had  flung  her  supreme  challenge. 
Did  he  guess  that  she  only  meant  to  provoke 
him?  —  that  she  had  no  more  intention  of 
leaving  him  than  he  could  have  of  allowing 
her  to  go?  But  in  the  whirl  of  anger  that 
came  upon  him,  a  search  after  hidden  in- 

[76] 


THE    HEART   OF   LADY   ANNE 


tentions  was  the  last  of  his  thoughts. 
Outwardly  he  kept  up  his  singular  stony 
taciturnity.  He  would  give  her  full  scope. 
Suddenly  she  began  to  tremble. 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  would  say,  Sir. 
Believe  me,  I  am  quite  prepared  for  your 
tyranny.  I  know  your  English  ideas  of  a 
wife's  duty  and  of  a  husband's  authority.  But 
you  forget  I  have  been  brought  up  in  a  country 
where  a  lady's  wishes  are  regarded  as  sacred, 
a  country  where  a  gentleman  would  believe 
himself  unworthy  of  the  name  did  he  not 
seek  to  pleasure,  to  serve  the  one  he  pro- 
fesses to  love.  I  have  been  ill-educated  for 
your  British  notions." 

"  You  have,  indeed,"  said  the  man  in  a 
grave  voice. 

She  was  charmed  to  have  been  inter- 
rupted at  last ;  charmed  to  have  the  excuse 
of  launching  herself  upon  a  full  tide  of 
recrimination. 

"  It  would  have  been  fairer  had  I  been 
warned,"  she  panted ;  "  had  I  but  been  told 
that  this  great  desolate  barn,  of  which  I 
heard  such  monts  et  merveilles,  was  to  be 
my  Bastille;  that,  when  I  signed  the  mar- 

[77] 


&  THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

riage  register,  I  was  but  subscribing  a  lettre 
de  cachet  for  myself —  had  I  been  but  told  I 
might  perchance  have  hesitated,  Sir,  before 
trusting  my  life  to  you." 

Squire  Day  lifted  his  head  and  looked 
slowly  round  the  rich  and  delicate  room, 
where  all  the  love  that  he  had  lavished  upon 
his  bride  had  reached  a  wonderful  climax  of 
expression  —  then  he  rose  and  walked  over 
to  the  window  and  looked  forth  upon 
flower-wreathed  terraces,  where  the  peacocks 
flaunted ;  upon  falling  greensward  that  had 
been  velvet  for  centuries,  melting  into  the 
wider  green  of  the  great  park,  with  its  belt 
of  noble  trees,  its  dotted  herds  of  deer,  its 
gleam  of  living  waters  where  the  river 
ran.  He  looked  upon  the  hundred  evidences 
of  that  mellow,  antique  prosperity  typical 
of  an  old  English  estate,  with  its  stamp  of 
all  that  was  best  of  English  stateliness 
and  English  strength.  This  was  her  Bas- 
tille, and  he,  in  his  love  and  patience,  her 
jailer! 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  head  for  a  second. 
The  golden  green  before  him  turned  crim- 
son. He  was  shaken  all  over  his  massive 


gg  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  ^ 

frame  with  hitherto  unknown  anger.  Prison 
—  jailer !  Very  well,  let  her  go ! 

Then,  in  sheer  apprehension  of  his  own  fury, 
he  perforce  donned  his  mask  of  iron  again. 

Coming  back  to  where  she  stood,  in  all 
her  naughtiness,  tearing  at  the  lace  of  her 
handkerchief  with  her  small  teeth,  he  spoke, 
in  a  low  voice,  but  distinctly : 

"  When  do  you  wish  to  start,  Nan  ?  " 

She  flung  up  her  head  to  stare.  Amaze- 
ment dried  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  there 
crept  into  their  blue  depths  something  be- 
sides surprise  —  fear.  She  could  not  have 
heard  aright 

"  I  — start?" 

"  Ay,"  said  he,  "  for  my  Lady  Kilcroney's. 
When  ?  To-day,  if  you  wish." 

She  still  stared  at  him  blankly.  To  be 
allowed  to  go  from  him  thus  and  without  a 
word!  But  pride  rushed  to  her  aid:  she 
tossed  her  head,  the  colour  of  the  rose  came 
leaping  back  to  her  cheek. 

"  To-day?  By  all  means,"  quoth  she.  "  Per- 
chance the  post-chaise  may  be  returning." 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  with  a  sort  of  bitter  gaiety, 
"  have  you  not  your  greys,  my  Lady?  " 

[79] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


"  You  are  vastly  generous,  Sir." 

"  Nay,  't  is  not  my  way,"  answered  he ;  and 
behind  all  the  barrier  of  ice  that  he  had  set 
between  himself  and  her,  she  might  have  felt 
stormy  waters  swelling,  "'tis  not  my  way  to 
take  back  a  gift.  But  you  will  need  to 
hasten,"  he  added  drily,  "  unless  't  would 
please  you  to  lie  twice  upon  the  road." 

"  Nay  —  I  will  hasten,  by  all  means  !  "  she 
retorted  quickly;  and  yet  she  stood  rooted, 
with  none  of  that  impatience  her  words  would 
have  expressed. 

"  I  shall  do  myself  the  honour  to  escort 
you.  Reassure  yourself  —  on  horseback." 

He  made  her  a  very  low  bow,  and  went 
forth. 

With  her  memories  of  Versailles  and  Paris 
it  had  pleased  Her  Petulance  to  look  down 
upon  him  more  or  less  as  a  mere  country 
Squire ;  but  never  even  at  Court  (she  thought 
now  to  herself)  had  she  seen  a  man  bow 
with  a  nobler  dignity  or  leave  her  with  a 
better  grace. 

The  four  greys  drew  the  blue-and-silver 
chariot  through  the  great  gates  of  Queen's 

[so] 


gg  THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

Compton  with  a  very  fine  dash.  And  Clar- 
ence footman,  and  Toinette  tirewoman, 
were  wreathed  in  smiles  as  they  felt  them- 
selves whirled  away  from  the  doldrums  of 
country  existence  to  the  joys  of  the  Town. 
But  within  the  carriage,  in  great  state,  all 
alone,  sat  the  woe-begone  Lady  of  Queen's 
Compton,  and  saw  terraces,  peacocks,  and 
gateways  whirl  past  her  through  a  mist  of 
tears. 

George,  the  second  coachman,  jogging  on 
ahead  with  musketoon  on  saddle-bow,  had 
nigh  as  melancholy  a  countenance  as  his 
mistress :  for  the  Squire  had  informed  him 
he  would  have  to  be  in  attendance  in  Town 
on  her  Ladyship  for  as  long  as  it  might 
pleasure  her  to  remain  there. 

The  Squire  himself,  swinging  behind  the 
carriage  at  a  slow  trot,  wore  an  impassive  look 
—  the  look  that  had  checked  his  mother's 
remonstrances  in  full  flood,  a  look  before 
which  Nan's  heart  sank  each  time  she  peeped 
back  at  him  stealthily  at  a  turning  of  the 
road. 

That  night,  as  they  lay  at  Slough,  Toi- 
nette received  no  orders  anent  the  bolting  of 
6  [81] 


jg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

doors,  in  the  great  best  chamber,  yclept 
"  Harmony."  But  if  forty  bolts  had  been 
drawn,  Squire  Day  would  have  been  none 
the  wiser  in  his  solitary  room,  perversely 
dubbed  "  Jollity,"  at  the  end  of  the  passage. 


[82] 


C  H    A 


CHAPTER   VI 

ADY  ANNE'S  heart  was  as 
heavy  as  the  purse  of  gold 
the  Squire  had  put  into 
her  hands  (to  meet  her 
more  immediate  needs)  as 
he  parted  from  her  on  the 
doorsteps  of  Lady  Kil- 
croney's  house  in  Hertford 
Street,  Mayfair. 

For  there  he  had  parted 
from  her,  with  no  nearer 
touch  than  the  conferring 
of  the  coin  to  her  keeping, 
and  no  tenderer  phrase 
than  : 

"  You  can  draw  upon 
Drummond's  Bank,  in 

Spring   Gardens,    when    you    require    more. 

They  shall  have  my  instructions." 

Thereupon,   with    a   flourish    of    his   hat 

(ironical    in    its   French   style)  he    had   left 

her,   even   as   the   folds   of   the   front   door 

[85] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


were  being  flung  open  by  Lady  Kilcroney's 
porter. 

"It's  never  Nan!"  cried  the  lady  of  the 
house  from,  the  top  of  the  first  stairs,  in 
tones  of  the  liveliest  astonishment.  "  Why, 
my  bird,  you  must  have  flown  !  "  And  Lady 
Anne,  somewhat  comforted  by  the  clasp  of 
Kitty  Kilcroney's  plump  arms,  was  dragged 
into  a  white-and-gold  drawing-room,  stared 
at,  re-embraced,  and  again  relinquished  for  a 
fresh  stare  of  surprise. 

"Alone,  Nan?  Not  alone,  surely  —  not 
a  runaway  again  ?  Ah,  the  birds,  you  see  — 
your  fellow-birds  will  twitter !  I  know  some 
secrets.  You  Ve  never  run  away  from  the 
dairy  a  second  time  ?  Why,  I  shall  be  having 
your  good  Squire  besieging  my  front-door 
with  all  his  plough-boys  and  hay-makers." 

The  tone  was  light,  but  there  was  some 
anxiety  in  Kitty's  brown-pansy  eyes  as  they 
roamed  beyond  her  friend  and  her  friend's 
woman  towards  the  empty  stairs. 

"  Nay,"  said  Lady  Anne,  sinking   into  a 

chair.     "  My  husband  has  given  full  consent. 

Nay,  he  has  even  escorted  me  to  your  door." 

And  as  she  spoke  her  heart  swelled  so  sud- 

[86] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


denly  that  she  had  to  clench  her  teeth  to 
keep  back  a  rising  sob. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Kitty,  clasping  her 
hands.  There  was  a  sudden  gleam  of  mis- 
chief in  her  dark  orbs.  "  What !  So  ready 
to  be  rid  of  you  already  ?  Dear  me,  the  luck 
of  some  people !  And  you  but  three  months 
wed !  There 's  my  Kilcroney,  after  three 
years,  so  great  a  fool  about  me  still  that  't  is 
positively  embarrassing."  She  tried  to  draw 
her  happy  lips  into  scorn,  but  it  was  the 
most  lamentable  failure. 

"  Ready  to  be  rid  of  me  ?  "  echoed  French 
Nan,  taking  fire  at  the  suggestion.  "  Would 
it  were  so !  "  she  cried,  striving  angrily  to 
meet  the  woman  of  the  world  on  her  own 
airy  ground.  "But,  to  say  truth,  I  —  I  be- 
lieve—  I  gather  —  he  is  vastly  offended  at 
my  wishing  to  come  to  you." 

She  tossed  her  head  and  set  the  plume  of 
her  fine  travelling-hat  dancing  with  an  as- 
sumption of  mighty  indifference. 

Lady  Kilcroney  brought  a  taper  nail  to 
the  corner  of  her  lip,  after  her  fashion  when 
she  was  reflective,  and  contemplated  her 
friend  a  moment  without  speaking.  Then 

[87] 


gg  THE    HEART   OF   LADY  ANNE  j§? 

she  suddenly  became  aware  of  the  waiting 
tirewoman's  curious  black  gaze  fixed  upon 
them  from  the  landing,  and  clapped  the  door 
sharply  in  her  face. 

"  So  Monsieur  le  mart  is  sulky  ?  "  she  in- 
quired then. 

"  Nay,  I  care  not  what  he  is." 

"  And  he  would  not  even  enter  the  house 
to  make  my  acquaintance.  'T  was  scarce 
courteous.  I  am  dying  with  curiosity  to  see 
him  who  won  my  Nan." 

"  Oh,  won !  "  commented  the  bride,  with 
another  jerk  of  the  plumed  hat. 

"  Nan !  "  cried  Kitty  Kilcroney  suddenly, 
springing  upon  her  visitor,  catching  her  by 
the  elbow,  perforce  pulling  her  from  her  seat 
and  into  a  fantastic  dance  down  the  polished 
length  of  the  room  ;  "  't  is  the  best  thing  that 
ever  happened  to  you  that  you  should  have 
come  to  me.  I  see  it;  I  feel  that  you  were 
making  the  most  prodigious  mess  of  your 
life  that  ever  woman  made.  You  babe ! 
You  little  infant  bride  !  You  poor  innocent ! 
You  little  dear  green-goose !  Why,  you  Ve 
no  more  notion  how  to  deal  with  a  man  than 
a  kitten  has  of  cards.  My  dear,  you  and 
[88] 


THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


your  bucolic  Squire  were  on  the  road  to 
hate  each  other.  .  .  .  Ha !  I  wish  I  were  as 
sure  of  winning  my  next  main  at  the  Buck- 
inghamshires'  as  I  am  sure  that  you  Ve  nagged 
the  man.  And  then,  I  dare  swear,  you  made 
little  of  yourself,  to  make  up  for  it.  Nay, 
by  that  blush  't  is  all  revealed.  And  —  oh, 
dear !  —  I  '11  lay  my  life,  you  Ve  been  more 
French  at  his  Queen's  Compton  than  any  at 
Versailles,  and  —  and  you  'd  put  yourself 
under  his  boots  now  to  get  him  back  to  you. 
Oh,  thank  your  stars,  my  love,  that  you  are 
with  me !  He  must  languish,  Nan,  he  must 
languish.  The  monster!  The  monster! 
What,  he  never  made  a  fight  to  keep  you  ? 
What,  he  brings  you  himself  to  the  house  of 
the  most  fashionable  woman  in  London? 
What,  you  're  to  be  free  to  enjoy  yourself ;  you, 
a  three-months'  wife  ?  Ha,  Nan,  't  is  clever,  I 
warrant  you ;  but  by  my  honour  as  Kitty  Kil- 
croney,  he  shall  not  win  the  trick!  Oh,  my 
love,  how  uncomfortable  we  're  going  to 
make  him ;  how  dashingly  we  shall  cut  it ; 
how  many  tongues  we  shall  set  wagging 
upon  a  dozen  different  tracks!  We  shall 
have  him  up,  raging,  from  his  pastures.  And 

[89] 


^  THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  £g 

yet  shall  he  have  so  many  rivals  to  kill  that 
he  shall  not  be  able  to  fix  on  one.  Oh, 
Nan !  we  shall  teach  him  that  he  must  not 
stake  so  great  a  treasure  on  a  game  of  his 
own." 

The  little  lady  stopped,  breathless,  and 
sank,  laughing,  into  the  beflowered  downi- 
ness of  the  Bergere.  And,  glancing  up  at  the 
fair,  sensitive  face  that  in  turns  flushed  and 
paled,  flashed  and  clouded  under  the  shade 
of  the  great  black-and-white  hat,  she  con- 
cluded between  gasps  of  mingled  mirth  and 
tenderness : 

"  And  if  we  do  not  set  London  wild  be- 
tween us  —  I  with  my  dark  eyes,  you  with 
your  blue  —  then  I  know  not  the  meaning 
of  a  good  hand  of  cards.  We  were  made  to 
set  each  other  off,  sweet  Nan !  And  now  " 
—  she  rose,  and  was  the  pretty,  solicitous 
hostess  — "  and  now  you  shall  have  your 
Bohea  and  a  rest  in  your  chamber  (and  a 
little  nap,  if  you  can),  for  I  have  a  thrifle  of  a 
rout  here  to-night,  as  Kilcroney  has  it,  and 
your  eyes  must  be  at  their  brightest.  And 
under  the  inspiration  of  this  dish  of  tay  — 
the  Queen  has  no  better;  'tis  one  of  my  poor 

[90] 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

Bellairs's  old  friends  in  the  East  that  keeps 
me  supplied  —  we  shall  make  a  little  list  of 
all  the  fine  beaux  who  would  be  for  ever  my 
enemies  if  I  did  not  give  them  the  chance  of 
meeting  my  French  Nan  this  evening.  For 
you  have  met  some  of  them  already  —  you 
have  captivated  many  of  our  travelling  sparks, 
over  there,  in  your  French  home." 

Kilcroney's  pretty  Viscountess  had  been 
granted  by  fate  so  eminently  satisfactory  an 
existence  that  her  talent  for  intrigue,  her 
extraordinary  gift  for  the  conduct  of  compli- 
cations, had  been  positively  wasted  these 
three  years.  It  was  a  charming  sensation  to 
find  her  dimpled  hands  active  once  more,  if 
only  in  somebody  else's  pie. 

"Yes,  there  's  my  Lord  Damory,"said  Nan. 

"  Lord  Damory ! "  echoed  Kitty,  with  a 
curl  of  the  lip  and  a  look  of  fond  pity  at  her 
friend.  "  Why,  you  poor  chit,  I  could  buy 
you  a  better  fop  for  a  farthing." 

"  'T  is  my  cousin,"  said  Lady  Anne,  flush- 
ing. 

"  And  more  's  the  pity,  for,  as  my  O'Hara 
would  say,  there  's  an  elegant  situation  wasted 
entirely." 

[91] 


THE    HEART   OF   LADY   ANNE 


"  Then  there 's  Lord  Sanquhar."  Lady 
Anne  spoke  in  tones  of  elaborate  indiffer- 
ence; but  from  the  corner  of  her  innocent 
eye  she  thoroughly  enjoyed  Lady  Kilcroney's 
start  and  sudden  glance  of  surprise,  not  to 
say  annoyance. 

"  Lord  Sanquhar !  Nay ;  that  is  indeed  a 
very  different  person.  Why,  child,  how 
come  you  with  the  name  of  Lord  Sanquhar 
on  your  lips  ?  " 

"  He  did  me  the  honour  to  be  prodigious 
assiduous  in  his  attentions  last  year  in 
Paris." 

"He's  half  a  devil,  I  think,"  said  Kitty. 
"  And  to  say  truth,  such  a  hand  with  the 
dice  that,  my  own  lord  being  too  sorely 
given  that  way,  I  have  hitherto  refrained 
from  encouraging  his  company." 

"'Tis  reputed  of  him,"  said  Lady  Anne, 
in  her  sweet,  childish  voice,  "  that  he  has 
sworn  no  dark  woman  was  worth  the  look- 
ing on." 

The  two  measured  each  other.  Anne's 
eyes  were  still  very  soft  and  guileless,  but 
my  Lady  Kilcroney's  danced  with  little 
steely  sparks. 

[9*1 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


"  My  dearest  angel,"  she  said  silkily,  after 
the  pause,  "  I  shall  send  the  footman  round 
to  Lord  Sanquhar's  immediately.  You  need 
have  no  fear." 

"  And  then  there  's  Sir  James  Devlin." 

"  Sir  James  Devlin !  " 

Lady  Kilcroney  now  regarded  her  visitor 
with  a  distinct  increase  of  respect,  if  with 
still  less  tenderness. 

"  Have  you  his  acquaintance  ?  "  quoth 
Anne. 

"  Oh,  ay,"  said  Kitty  drily.  "  He  comes, 
I  believe,  to-night."  Then  she  added  with 
sudden  earnestness,  "  'T  is  the  devil  in  per- 
son. Nan,  beware  of  James  Devlin." 

"  I  hope  I  can  take  care  of  myself,"  said 
the  Squire's  lady,  tossing  her  plumes. 

"  I  hope  so  too,"  said  Kitty,  with  some 
asperity. 


[93] 


C   H   A   P  T   I 


•H- 


CHAPTER   VII 


ADY  ANNE  propped  her  flushed 
cheek  on  her  hand. 

"  Pray,"  said  she  plain- 
tively, "  how,  then,  do  mat- 
ters stand  between  us  ?  I 
fear  I  have  lost  count,  and 
in  truth  my  head  swims." 

They  were  seated,  Lady 
Anne  Day  and  my  Lord 
Sanquhar,  at  a  little  table 
somewhat  apart  from  the 
others  in  my  Lady  Buck- 
inghamshire's great  gay 
drawing-room.  The  am- 
ber folds  of  the  silk  win- 
dow-curtain behind  her 
threw  the  pearly  shades  of 
her  dainty  head,  the  faint  mauve  shimmer 
of  her  gown,  into  relief  under  the  gleam  of 
the  four  wax  candles  that  illuminated  their 
window-corner. 

7  [97] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


Lord  Sanquhar  pushed  the  candlestick 
before  him  on  one  side,  that  he  might  the 
better  gaze  at  his  antagonist.  He  marked 
the  quiver  of  her  lip  under  the  teeth  that 
fain  would  hold  it  steady,  the  fear  that  dilated 
her  eyes  as  she  looked  back  at  him  across  a 
formidable  array  of  notes ;  and  a  look  be- 
tween tenderness  and  cruelty  came  upon 
his  handsome  sensual  countenance.  He 
stretched  out  a  long  thin  hand  and  gathered 
the  papers  from  before  her  to  spread  them 
under  his  own  glance  ;  ran  his  finger-nail 
along  them  in  brief  calculation,  then  raised 
his  eyes  once  more  and  suddenly  smiled. 
Anne  caught  her  breath  ;  she  scarce  knew 
why,  but  his  smile  terrified  her. 

"  What  have  I  lost  to  you  ?  "  she  whispered, 
leaning  across. 

"  Oh,  why  should  you  trouble  ?  "  said  he ; 
u  such  pretty  heads  as  yours  were  never 
meant  for  the  ugly  game  of  figures.  You  owe 
me  nothing.  Nay,  't  is  I  owe  you  for  many 
a  rousing  game  and  something  else  — " 
His  voice  sank.  "  Shall  I  tear  up  these 
silly  bits  of  paper  ? " 

Pallor  and  flush  passed   across   her  face 

[98] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


almost  as  rapidly  as  the  panting  breath  be- 
tween her  lips. 

"  Sir,  my  Lord  —  nay,  Lord  Sanquhar, 
you  insult  me  !  Oh,  indeed,  you  do  me  very 
grievous  wrong  if  you  suppose  that  I  would 
accept "  —  her  breast  heaved  —  "  that  I  am 
in  need  of  accepting  any  such  favour.  We 
played  for  fair  stakes.  Before  the  last  throw 
I  owed  you  some  two  hundred  pounds,  and 
again  I  lost.  I  never  was  a  good  arith- 
metician, Sir,"  said  Nan,  pride  lending 
strength  to  her  voice  and  driving  away  her 
former  sense  of  apprehension,  "  but  I  trust 
that  I  know  enough  about  figures  not  to 
risk  more  than  I  can  pay." 

"  Oh,  you  will  pay,  my  Lady  Anne,  sure 
enough,"  said  Lord  Sanquhar,  bowing  with  a 
very  deep  air  of  courtesy  across  the  table 
to  her.  "  I  crave  your  pardon,  but  such  a 
misapprehension  was  far  indeed  from  my 
thoughts.  Shall  we  have  it,  now,  that  you 
owe  me  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  ?  Alas, 
alas  !  why  should  the  fates  thus  pursue  me 
when  I  should  so  fain  owe  to  you  ?  Shall 
we  rest  on  this  ?  You  are  tired." 

Nan  pressed  her  fingers  over  her  eyes  for 

[99] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


a  second.  It  seemed  to  her  that  these  ten 
days  since  she  had  taken  up  her  abode  with 
Lady  Kilcroney  were  like  nothing  on  earth 
more  than  the  days  of  a  fever  that  she  had 
had  as  a  child  —  they  went  so  fast  and  yet 
seemed  eternal !  The  hours  lost  their  usual 
significance.  It  was  no  sooner  morning 
than  it  was  night ;  and  night  was  no  time 
for  sleep,  and  yet  was  full  of  lurid  dreams. 
Minutes  held  eternities,  and  nevertheless 
Life  was  rushing  with  her  she  knew  not 
whither.  And  she  could  not  stop.  She  was 
herself  and  not  herself ;  and  she  would  wake 
and  be  the  old  little  Nan,  only  to  look  with 
terror  on  what  some  new  strange  Nan  had 
done. 

Just  now,  as  she  thought  of  the  cool  green 
woods,  the  pine  solitude,  the  wholesome, 
happy  life  at  Queen's  Compton  under  her 
husband's  sheltering  love,  she  could  have 
sobbed  aloud.  Why  had  some  mad  Nan, 
that  was  not  she,  taken  to  gaming?  Before 
heaven,  she  did  not  know  !  No  more  than 
she  knew  why  she  had  allowed  Lord  San- 
quhar  to  monopolise  her,  four  nights  out  of 
the  five  ;  and  why  had  she  coquetted  the  more, 
[  100  ] 


THE   HEART  OF    LADY  ANNE 


the  more  people  had  whispered  and  looked 
askance  at  them. 

Now  she  had  lost  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds !  Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
that,  in  connection  with  all  her  other  ex- 
travagances, would  run  the  credit  —  that 
generous  credit  the  Squire  had  allowed  her 
at  his  bank  —  very  low;  so  low  indeed  that 
she  would  have  to  apply  for  fresh  funds  be- 
fore she  could  pay  her  milliner's  account, 
the  total  of  which  — she  had  so  bad  a  head 
for  figures  —  she  could  only  dimly  guess  at. 
The  thought  was  intolerable.  Yesterday  she 
had  won.  There  was  no  reason  why  she 
should  go  on  losing  this  evening. 

"  Nay,"  she  said  quickly,  dropping  her 
hands ;  "  surely,  my  Lord,  the  evening  is 
but  just  begun." 

She  stretched  out  her  fingers  for  the  dice- 
box. 

He  had  been  watching  her  with  an  air  of 
benevolent  patience.  His  clean-cut  face  had 
an  almost  statuesque  repose,  and  his  full  lips 
were  serenely  set ;  but  this  appearance  of 
impassivity  was  on  occasions  strangely  con- 
tradicted by  the  quivering  of  thin  nostrils. 
[101] 


THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


And  how  they  quivered  as  Lady  Anne's 
fingers  closed  upon  the  dice-box !  A  spirit 
of  passion  and  triumph  breathed  from  his 
face,  for  whomsoever  could  read  it.  Slowly 
he  pushed  back  the  pieces  of  paper  towards 
the  centre  of  the  table. 

"  Double,  then,  or  quits  ?  "  he  asked.  Then 
catching  himself  up:  "Nay,  what  am  I  say- 
ing? 'T  is  so  much  against  my  practice  to 
play  thus  with  a  fair  adversary.  Nay,  Lady 
Anne,  a  little  stake  for  little  hands !  " 

"  Double  or  quits !  "  cried  she,  fluttering 
anger  like  a  child. 

They  flung,  and  she  won. 

"  Now  do  I  bless  the  fickle  gods !  "  cried 
he,  tearing  up  the  scraps  of  paper  with  a 
fine  play  of  fingers.  "  Now,  Lady  Anne, 
never  another  toss  between  us:  for  to  have 
you  owe  to  me  —  oh,  't  was  hideous,  't  was 
an  intolerable  burden  !  " 

He  flung  the  pieces  of  paper  on  the  floor 
and  took  up  the  dice-box.  Then  the  devil 
entered  into  Nan  again.  She  hesitated, 
half  rose,  sat  down.  And  he,  holding  her 
with  all  his  mind,  while  feigning  not  to  heed 
or  care  what  she  did,  had  again  that  ominous 
[  102] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


quiver  of  eagerness  in  the  wings  of  his 
nostrils. 

"  Would  you  end  the  game  now  that  my 
luck  has  turned  ?  "  taunted  she. 

They  staked.  She  lost.  They  doubled 
again  and  once  again  she  lost. 

"  You  owe  me  a  thousand  pounds,"  he 
said,  in  quite  another  voice. 

She  stared  at  him  aghast.  A  clamour  of 
bells  tolled  calamity  in  her  ears :  "  A  thou- 
sand pounds,  a  thousand  pounds !  "  The 
murmur  of  voices  about  her  sounded  sud- 
denly far  away,  unreal.  Some  one  laughed 
shrilly: 

"  My  Lady  Kilcroney's  luck  again !  " 

Some  one  groaned : 

"  Luck  is  it  ?  Sure,  it 's  mine  's  the  divil's 
own !  But  there,  never  say  die,  say  I  — 
and  say  dice  when  you  can.  Hurroosh, 
boys,  I  'm  for  it  again  !  " 

The  Irish  accent  sounded  vaguely  familiar. 
Lord  Sanquhar  leaned  over  the  board  and 
lightly  touched  one  of  Lady  Anne's  inert 
hands.  She  started  violently  and  looked  at 
him  with  wakening  eyes,  the  blood  rushing 
back  to  her  face.  Was  it  possible  she 
[  103] 


^  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  & 

had  been  near  swooning?  How  humili- 
ating !  He  was  still  leaning  across  the 
table,  his  hand  ready  to  lay  itself  upon  hers 
again. 

"  Say  but  the  word,"  he  said,  as  once  be- 
fore, "  and  you  owe  me  nothing." 

But  Anne,  for  all  her  youth,  was  no  baby 
in  the  world's  ways.  Her  French  training, 
if  it  had  had  disadvantages,  had  at  least 
taught  her  that  a  man's  code  of  honour  in 
dealing  with  a  woman  is  one  that  every 
woman  should  most  profoundly  distrust.  It 
was  terrible  to  owe  a  thousand  pounds ;  but 
might  it  not  be  worse  still  to  owe  this  man 
gratitude  ?  And  yet  she  hesitated. 

Two  players,  who  were  occupying  a  table 
in  a  distant  corner,  here  suddenly  broke  up 
their  game  ;  one  of  them  strolled  towards 
the  window  embrasure  and  halted  behind 
Lord  Sanquhar's  chair  to  make  a  bet  on  his 
next  throw.  The  other,  concealing  his  face 
with  his  hat,  which  he  used  as  a  fan  (with  a 
natural  enough  gesture  on  this  sultry  night), 
went  and  leaned  against  a  pilaster;  and  with 
his  back  half  turned  to  the  company,  seemed 
to  gaze  absently  into  the  night. 
[  104] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


Lord  Sanquhar  drew  himself  up  and  flung 
a  swift  look  over  his  shoulder. 

"  You  '11  get  no  sport  here,  Jim,"  said  he 
airily.  "  Lady  Anne  and  myself  have  done 
with  play,  and  are  but  conversing  together 
for  the  present." 

"  Nay,  my  Lord,"  retorted  the  other,  "  I 
trow  you  that  you  could  both  still  afford  me 
a  pretty  wager.  Shall  I  lay  you  ten  to  one 
that  I  guess  how  it  stands  between  her 
Ladyship  and  yourself  ?  " 

"  Oh,  pray,  gentlemen,"  said  Nan,  a  fresh 
alarm  springing  into  her  eyes,  "can  you  find 
no  better  excuse  than  myself  for  the  bandy- 
ing of  your  money  ?  " 

"  I  would  I  could,"  said  Jim  Devlin,  look- 
ing at  her  very  straight. 

"  Done  with  you,  Jim,"  said  Lord  San- 
quhar, passing  suavely  over  Lady  Anne's 
interruption. 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Devlin,  "  there  you 
both  sit  with  your  hands  before  you,  and 
the  dice-box  at  rest.  'T  is  as  plain  as  a 
pike-staff :  you  're  quits." 

The  man  at  the  window  detached  himself 
from  the  wall,  came  unobtrusively  up  to  the 

[•05] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


table  and  stood  behind  Lady  Anne.  Lord 
Sanquhar  pulled  a  piece  of  gold  from  his 
breeches  pocket  and  slapped  it  down  before 
Sir  James. 

"An  easy  win,  man"  —  his  nostrils  quiv- 
ered. "  Her  Ladyship  and  I  are  quits,  as 
you  say  —  for  the  present." 

The  colour  faded  on  Nan's  cheek,  and 
then  flamed  once  more.  She  pushed  her 
chair  back. 

"  It  is  not  so  ! "  she  cried  in  a  high  trem- 
bling voice.  "  My  Lord  Sanquhar,  Sir 
James,  I  take  it  ill  that  you  should  make  me 
the  subject  of  your  bets ;  but  since  it  is  so, 
mon  Dieu !  let 's  have  the  truth.  We  are 
not  quits.  I  owe  Lord  Sanquhar  a  thou- 
sand pounds." 

Her  words  had  rung  louder  than  she  reck- 
oned. Lady  Buckinghamshire,  who  was 
taking  a  stroll  round  her  premises  with  a 
wary  eye  on  the  different  tables  —  scandal 
whispered  that  she  had  a  creature  in  her 
pay  at  nearly  every  one  of  them  and  im- 
pounded much  of  the  winnings  every  night 
—  was  attracted  by  the  sound,  and  directed 
her  steps  towards  the  group.  She  was  lean- 
[  106  ] 


THE    HEART   OF   LADY   ANNE 


ing  on  the  arm  of  a  small  foppish  youth, 
who  seemed  somewhat  overpowered  by  the 
honour. 

"  Who  has  lost  a  thousand  pounds  ? " 
cried  she,  with  mock  horror  in  her  own 
strident  tones.  "  Fie,  that  I  cannot  enter- 
tain my  friends  to  a  little  moderate  amuse- 
ment but  that  such  high  stakes  should  be 
sent  flying." 

"  No  one  has  lost  a  thousand  pounds," 
said  Lord  Sanquhar,  smiling.  "  And  there 
lies  my  golden  word  that  my  fair  adversary 
and  I  are  even." 

"What,  that  chit?"  said  Lady  Bucking- 
hamshire, measuring,  not  unkindly,  Nan's 
lovely  youth.  "  Nay,  never  look  so  dis- 
tressed, child !  Why,  if  you  had  lost  ten 
thousand,  you  need  have  no  anxiety  about 
payment  —  not  for  some  twenty  years  to 
come,  with  that  face.  Eh,  my  Lord 
Damory  ? " 

Lady  Anne  rose  from  her  chair  and 
looked  quickly  at  her  hostess's  raddled  coun- 
tenance. An  idiotic  laugh  from  Lord 
Damory,  a  look  of  well-assumed  vagueness 
upon  Sir  James  Devlin's  smooth,  spare 
[  107] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


features,  the  indescribable  flicker  upon  San- 
quhar's  as  he  dropped  his  eyelids  —  each 
man  in  his  way  had  somehow  pointed  the 
observation  so  that  it  went  cruelly  home  to 
her  pride.  A  fierceness  rose  in  her. 

"  Nay,  Madam,"  she  said,  with  deliberate 
enunciation,  "  I  fail  to  comprehend  you. 
Need  a  woman  have  your  countenance  and 
your  years  to  be  honest  enough  to  wish  to 
pay  her  debts  ? " 

A  light  of  enjoyment  and  admiration 
leaped  into  Devlin's  glance.  His  neighbour 
turned  away,  seized  with  a  fit  of  coughing. 
The  man  that  stood  behind  Nan  made  a 
slight  movement  forward,  then  restrained 
himself.  Lord  Sanquhar  still  sat  with  droop- 
ing lids.  Lord  Kilcroney,  from  the  table 
near  them,  suddenly  exploded  into  his  hands. 
But  Lady  Buckinghamshire's  retort,  delayed 
by  a  second's  blank  astonishment,  promptly 
drowned  all  other  sounds. 

"  Who  is  the  honest  young  lady,  may  I 
ask?  Upon  rep,  my  fair  Madam,  you  do 
well  to  study  with  my  Lord  Sanquhar  if  you 
would  retain  those  virtues  which  so  well 
become  you!  You  do  indeed,  la!  Here, 
[  108] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


then,  is  a  beauty  who  is  anxious  to  pay  her 
debts  !  Why,  and  I  trust  so,  Madam  " — from 
high  sarcasm,  Lady  Buckinghamshire  now 
abruptly  fell  into  rough  bullying  —  "else 
would  you  be  no  guest  for  this  house.  I 
shall  have  no  fine  ladies  here  who  think 
they  can  play  for  ruinous  stakes,  then  act 
the  pretty  cheat.  Come,  my  proud  Madam, 
you  owe  Lord  Sanquhar  a  thousand 
pounds !  You  '11  pay  Lord  Sanquhar  a 
thousand  pounds,  if  you  please.  You  '11 
give  him  your  note  for  the  amount  this 
moment,  aye,  before  you  leave  the  table." 

Nan  swayed  a  little  as  she  stood  in  her 
young  dignity,  and  put  out  her  hands 
vaguely.  Into  what  trap  had  she  rushed  in 
her  folly  ?  How  could  she  do  as  this  horrible 
old  woman  bade  her?  How  could  she  sign 
away  a  thousand  pounds  straight  off,  when 
she  had  not  a  penny  beyond  that  three  hun- 
dred in  the  bank  that  she  could  honestly 
call  her  own  ? 

There  was  a  stir  among  the  men.  San- 
quhar started  from  his  seat.  At  the  same 
instant  Devlin,  Lord  Damory,  and  the  man 
behind  Nan's  chair,  took  a  simultaneous 
[  109] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


step  forward  which  brought  them  close  to 
each  other. 

"  Lady  Buckinghamshire,  you  are  speak- 
ing to  my  cousin,  Lady  Anne  Day,"  said 
Lord  Damory,  in  feeble,  shocked  tones,  his 
round  eyes  starting  from  his  head. 

"  Buck,"  said  Jim  Devlin,  his  cool,  mock- 
ing air  striking  like  a  spray  upon  the  stout 
lady's  gross  heat,  "go  and  play  your  own 
little  game,  there  's  a  good  soul,  and  don't 
ever  meddle  in  other  people's,  else  you  '11 
drive  us  to  Archer's  or  Goosetree's." 

"  And  when  I  assure  Lady  Buckingham- 
shire," said  Lord  Sanquhar,  with  great 
deliberation,  "  that  Lady  Anne  owes  me 
nothing,  that  't  was  a  mere  error  of  calcula- 
tion—  and  that's  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world,  as  our  gentle  hostess  herself  knows  — 
her  natural  anxiety  for  the  honour  of  her 
house  will,  I  trust,  be  instantly  allayed." 

Nan  stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other, 
half  poised  for  flight,  half  ready  to  turn  at 
bay  with  the  last  desperate  courage  of  the 
weakling.  She  was  hesitating  once  more 
on  the  edge  of  that  precipice,  Sanquhar's 
protection.  But  the  man  behind  her 
[  no] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


pushed  by  them  and  stood  beside  her,  so 
that  her  retreat  was  barred. 

All  stared  at  him.  None  of  Lady  Buck- 
inghamshire's habitues  had  acquaintance 
with  the  owner  of  that  handsome  stern  face. 
But  Nan  gave  a  faint  cry  and  caught  at  the 
amber  curtain  behind  her  to  save  herself 
from  falling.  Lady  Buckinghamshire,  feel- 
ing perhaps  that  she  scarcely  cut  a  grace- 
ful figure,  here  promptly  and  discreetly 
vanished. 

The  stranger  whom  only  Nan  knew  turned 
and  spoke  quickly  in  her  ear:  "Compose 
yourself;  there's  been  scandal  enough!" 

Then  he  advanced  upon  the  others. 
"  Gentlemen,  the  matter  is  quickly  settled. 
My  Lord  Sanquhar  —  such  is  your  name,  I 
believe  —  your  statement  is  incorrect.  The 
Lady  Anne  Day  owes  you  at  this  moment 
one  thousand  pounds,  for  which  sum  I  will 
instantly  write  you  a  note,  which  Messrs. 
Drummond  will  duly  honour  on  sight." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met. 

"  Pray,"  said  Lord  Sanquhar,  drawing  a 
long  breath  through  those  flickering  nostrils 
of  his,  while  his  lips  yet  wore  a  sweet  smile; 


THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE 


"  pray,  Sir,  whom  might  I  have  the  hon- 
our? I  am  not  surprised  that  you  should 
wish  to  assume  a  privilege  which  I  intend 
to  keep  for  myself,  but --'tis  perhaps  a 
mere  prejudice  —  among  gentlemen  there 
are  such  trifles  as  introductions.  Even 
here"  —  he  cast  his  insolent  eye  about  him 
and  brought  it  back  to  the  attack  —  "even 
here  we  keep  to  these  small  decencies  of 
life." 

"  My  Lord,"  said  the  stranger,  drawing 
his  tablets  from  his  pocket  and  sitting  down 
at  the  table  with  an  unconcern  that  was 
more  contemptuous  than  any  words,  "if  you 
will  kindly  look  at  the  signature  upon  this 
paper  you  will  see  that  I  need  no  introduc- 
tion to  you  to  pay  my  wife's  debts." 

Had  Philip  Day  been  a  vain  man,  he 
might  well  have  been  elated  at  the  sensation 
now  produced.  Lord  Sanquhar's  face  be- 
came convulsed  with  a  passion,  instantly 
repressed,  but  which  left  him  livid  as  it 
passed  and  betrayed  how  fully  his  sudden 
adversary  had  scored.  There  were  mur- 
murs and  glances  of  admiration  among  the 
group  of  onlookers. 

[112] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


Any  Englishman,  however  degenerate, 
however  vapid  or  dissolute,  will  yet  keep  a 
spark  in  him  that  kindles  for  the  husband 
defending  his  wife's  honour.  Had  the 
Squire  to-night  hung,  as  once,  on  Anne's 
least  glance,  he  would  have  thrilled  to  the 
fire  that  her  blue  eyes  shot  at  him  through 
the  rising  tears.  But  the  master  of  Queen's 
Compton  had  no  pride  in  this  evening's 
work.  None,  certes  —  only  a  deep  shame 
that  his  Nan  should  have  made  her  name  so 
light  a  thing  as  to  be  bandied  between  these 
idle  gamblers.  He  wrote  in  silence  and  un- 
moved gravity ;  and  then,  getting  up,  handed 
the  tablet  with  a  slight  inclination  of  the 
head  to  Lord  Sanquhar. 

"  The  honour  of  an  introduction  to  Lord 
Sanquhar,"  he  said  in  level  tones,  as  though 
continuing  his  former  speech,  "  is  one  that  I 
do  not  covet." 

Lord  Sanquhar  bowed  very  low ;  and, 
though  he  smiled,  his  face  was  still  deathly 
white.  "  But  I  shall  have  the  honour,"  he 
retorted,  taking  the  paper  and  folding  it  as 
he  spoke,  "  of  sending  you  a  due  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  receipt  of  your  favour, 

8  n 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY   ANNE  & 

Mr. "  He  opened  the  paper,  sought  the 

name  with  supercilious  eyebrow  raised,  then 
his  eye  quickened.  "Ah!"  he  went  on  in 
altered  tones,  "  I  see  you  have  put  down  the 
address.  Your  servant,  Mr.  Day."  He 
slipped  the  paper  into  his  breast  and  made 
another  bow,  less  profound  but  infinitely 
more  courteous. 

"  It  is  always  well,"  answered  Philip  Day 
steadily,  "to  mark  the  address  in  a  transac- 
tion of  this  kind.  It  precludes  all  possi- 
ble misunderstanding."  Sanquhar  fell  back 
with  a  gesture  of  acknowledgment ;  and, 
without  one  further  glance  at  Lady  Anne, 
he  walked  away. 

The  Squire  approached  his  wife  and  of- 
fered her  his  arm : 

"  Your  coach  awaits  ?  That  is  well ;  I 
will  conduct  you  to  it." 

He  led  her  across  the  room  towards  Lady 
Buckinghamshire,  who  watched  them  come, 
half  nervous,  half  defiant. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  my  wife  and  I 
are  infinitely  obliged  to  you  for  your 
entertainment." 

Trembling  on  his  arm.  Lady  Anne,  with 
["4] 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE   gg 

lids  cast  down,  swept  a  curtsey.  A  little 
silence,  and  many  eyes  followed  their  exit. 

"  By  the  powers,"  said  the  Viscount  Kil- 
croney,  lying  back  in  his  chair  with  his 
thumbs  in  his  waistcoat-pockets,  "  but  our 
little  Lady  Anne  has  got  a  pretty  beau  at 
last.  Where  did  she  pick  up  such  a  stag  ? 
He 's  not  grown  in  Buck's  kennels,  I 
warrant." 

"Tush,  man,"  said  his  neighbour,  Jim 
Devlin,  "a  beau?  why,  'tis  the  lady's  own 
husband.  Lord,  such  a  connubial  play  as 
we  Ve  seen ! " 

"  Nan's  husband,"  echoed  honest  Kil- 
croney,  and  drew  his  fingers  out  of  his  pock- 
ets to  thump  the  table  in  his  amazement. 
"Then  of  all  the  little  linnet-headed  little 
geese ! " 


t»5] 


H  A 


VIII 


•H- 


CHAPTER  VIII 


sooner  did  she  find 
herself  safe  in  the 
coach  with  her  hus- 
band than  Lady 
Anne  collapsed  into 
*  a  corner  and  burst 
into  tears  —  tears,  no 
doubt,  less  of  re- 
morse than  of  relief 
and  joy. 

But  the  quality  of 
her  emotion  soon 
changed.  She,  who 
had  not  doubted 
that  she  would  forth- 
with find  herself 
gathered  into  his 
arms  and  have  the  happy  luxury  of  sobbing 
her  repentance  on  his  breast,  was  met  by  a 
silence,  an  immobility  that  struck  a  chill  to 
her  heart.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  that  pres- 
ence by  her  side  gave  out  cold.  Her  tears 


THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE 


froze  upon  her  cheeks ;  the  sobs  were 
strangled  in  her  throat;  she  felt  paralysed 
The  more  ardently  she  desired  reconcilia- 
tion and  the  restoration  of  his  love  at  any 
price,  the  more  utterly  incapable  she  found 
herself  of  making  an  advance. 

Perhaps,  could  she  have  known  what 
strong  tension  the  man  was  putting  upon 
himself  to  keep  those  arms  of  his  folded 
from  the  touch  of  her,  even  in  anger ;  to 
keep  those  lips  sternly  silent,  even  from  re- 
proach, she  might  still  have  found  that  sim- 
ple phrase  of  love,  regret  and  submission 
which  would  have  brought  from  his  manly 
heart  the  most  instant,  the  most  complete 
forgiveness.  But  this  impassiveness,  this 
silence  that  chilled,  ended  at  last  by  harden- 
ing her.  There  is  no  tide  so  bitter  to  a 
woman's  heart  as  passion  driven  back  upon 
itself.  A  man  may  be  rebuffed,  may  have 
his  advances  rejected,  and  yet  suffer  no  loss 
of  dignity,  even  in  his  own  eyes.  But  the 
woman  conscious  in  her  heart  of  an  unre- 
ciprocated ardour;  the  woman,  the  wife,  who 
calls  to  her  own  and  is  unanswered  —  there 
is  no  humiliation  deeper  than  hers,  no  more 
[  120] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY   ANNE 


maddening  spur  to  retaliation.  Alas  for 
poor  Nan !  She  had  found  it  too  easy 
hitherto  to  flout  him  and  then  recall  him. 
She  had  turned  the  facile  weapon  of  her 
tears  too  often  upon  him  :  and  tears  that  no 
longer  touch  have  the  art  of  singularly  irri- 
tating. Now,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  man- 
hood, for  the  sake  of  their  future  peace,  seeing 
therein  the  sole  chance  of  happiness  with 
her,  he  had  resolved  that  nothing  short  of 
the  most  complete  surrender  on  her  part 
would  induce  him  to  take  her  again  to  his 
enfolding  love.  Perverse  child,  she  must  be 
taught  her  lesson!  He  had  dreamed  to 
teach  her  with  a  kiss,  and  she  had  chosen 
the  rod.  So  be  it  —  till  the  scholar  was  per- 
fect !  True  —  and  he  knew  it  —  he  was  play- 
ing a  mighty  dangerous  game.  But  the  stake 
was  high  ;  and,  taking  all  in  all,  he  had  con- 
fidence in  his  wife's  innermost  rectitude  of 
soul.  Even  now,  amid  the  sullen  thunders  of 
his  indignation,  the  cry  of  her  honest  young 
voice  loudly  acknowledging  the  debt  echoed 
gratefully  in  his  memory :  his  Nan  had  her 
pure  heart  still.  And,  besides,  was  he  not  — 
unknown  to  her  —  keeping  watch  and  ward? 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY   ANNE 


When  he  stood  on  the  steps,  between 
Lady  Kilcroney's  link-extinguishers,  to  hand 
her  out  of  the  coach  with  the  elaborate 
Frenchified  ceremony  that  seemed  assumed 
in  sheer  irony  of  her  taste,  she  could  have 
struck  his  hand  aside  with  the  temper  of  a 
child.  It  was  all  she  could  do  to  keep  her 
head  high  and  respond  with  due  haughti- 
ness to  his  hateful  "  Good-night  to  you,  my 
Lady ;  or,  rather,  good-morning !  "  as  he 
bowed  her  into  the  hall. 

On  the  first  bend  of  the  stairs  she  paused 
and  looked  back.  He  was  still  standing,  as 
if  waiting.  Her  heart  gave  a  great  leap. 
She  turned  round.  He  read  her  thought, 
and  spoke.  And,  oh!  how  she  blessed  her 
little  angry  gods  a  minute  later,  in  the  kind 
darkness  of  her  room,  that,  before  she  had 
betrayed  her  joy  or  descended  a  step,  he  had 
spoken  first.  Said  he  : 

"  I  should  like  a  few  words  with  my  Lord 
Kilcroney  —  on  a  pure  matter  of  business," 
he  added,  with  a  smile  so  cruel,  she  thought, 
that  she  could  hardly  draw  her  breath  as  she 
hurried,  shaken  now  out  of  all  dignity,  from 
his  sight. 

[  122  ] 


%$  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  & 

Philip  Day's  face  was  very  thoughtful  as 
he  followed  the  servant  into  the  library, 
where,  between  strictly  undisturbed  shelves, 
Lord  Kilcroney  had  his  broiled  bones  (and 
their  usual  liquid  accompaniments)  towards 
the  small  hours  of  most  mornings. 

Lady  Kilcroney  bounced  into  her  friend's 
room  without  knocking,  ruthless  of  disturb- 
ance to  slumber.  That  it  should  be  in 
darkness  seemed  but  to  increase  the  hostess's 
ire.  She  called  shrilly  upon  Lydia  for  a 
light ;  and,  closing  the  door,  marched  to  the 
bed  upon  very  determined  high  heels. 

In  truth,  the  memory  of  certain  words 
that  had  passed  between  herself  and  her  lord, 
as  they  returned  from  "  Lady  Buck's,"  was 
rankling  in  Kitty's  mind  to  such  an  extent 
that  she  could  not  think  of  sleep  before  she 
had  had  her  say  on  the  night's  doings. 

Kilcroney  (in  whose  eyes  hitherto  his 
Kitty,  the  most  perfect  of  women,  could  do 
no  wrong)  had  actually  turned  upon  her  with 
something  approaching  to  rebuke. 

"  I  don't  know  what  game  it  is  you  're 
playing,  Kitty,  with  that  guest  of  ours,"  had 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  $ 

he  said,  "  but  I  'm  thinking  now  you  had 
best  have  left  her  in  the  country." 

"  And,  indeed,  Denis,"  had  retorted  with 
wrath  the  lady  (who  had  already  heard  vari- 
ous accounts  of  what  James  Devlin  called 
"  the  connubial  scene,"  and  was  not  in  the 
best  of  humours  with  her  once  "  sweetest 
Nan  "  for  creating  scandal),  "  I  wish  I  had. 
For  she  is  the  silliest  piece  I  have  ever 
dealt  with,  and  I  Ve  known  many  fools  in 
my  day." 

"  She  's  got  a  fine  fellow  of  a  husband," 
had  remarked  Kilcroney,  "  and  the  mischief 's 
in  it ;  I  am  sorry  for  the  man."  And  he 
would  have  added,  "  Send  her  home,"  in  that 
tone  of  authority  so  rarely  used  that  it  was 
all-paramount  in  its  effect,  but  that  his  Irish 
notions  of  hospitality  could  not  let  him  con- 
template such  a  step  towards  a  guest.  He 
had  therefore  gone  on  merely  with  the 
remark : 

"  If  the  little  thing  's  a  fool,  the  more 
reason  for  you,  who  are  none  "  —  here  he 
had  pinched  her  ear  good-naturedly,  but  his 
tone  was  none  the  less  disapproving  —  "  not 
to  be  leading  her  into  all  this  nonsense. 


&  THE   HEART   OF   LADY   ANNE  gg 

She 's    too    monstrous    pretty,"    he    added 
reflectively. 

To  be  found  fault  with  by  the  adoring 
Denis  was  an  unheard-of  situation  in  itself; 
but  this  last  remark  had  been  intolerable. 
Nevertheless  Kilcroney's  Viscountess  was 
far  too  shrewd  (unlike  silly  Nan)  to  wreak 
vengeance  where  it  would  only  recoil  upon 
herself.  Reserving  her  forces,  prudently,  for 
the  other  delinquent,  she  had  been  softer 
than  silk  to  her  lord  all  the  rest  of  the  drive ; 
but  her  energies  were  none  the  less  potent 
for  being  pent  up  till  the  proper  moment. 

It  is  not  of  the  least  use  to  pretend  sleep 
when  you  are  lying,  in  your  finery,  on  the 
outside  of  the  bed,  and  your  pillow  is  all  wet 
with  tears.  It  is  also  exceedingly  difficult  to 
present  either  an  airy  or  a  dignified  front 
when  thus  discovered.  And  the  gentlest 
woman  would  be  prone  to  tartness  in  such 
disadvantageous  circumstances. 

"  Pray,  Lady  Kilcroney  — "  began  Lady 
Anne,  in  no  amiable  tones,  as  she  sat  up  in 
the  four-poster  and  jerked  her  face  pettishly 
aside  from  the  light. 


^  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  £j 

"And  pray,  you  foolish  thing,"  retorted 
Kitty,  with  a  highly  virtuous  air,  "  I  am  sure 
I  'm  not  surprised  to  see  you  cry.  A  pretty 
mess  you  have  made  of  things  this  night ! 
Good  God !  woman,"  went  on  Lady  Kil- 
croney,  putting  down  the  candlestick  with  a 
slap,  u  how  shall  I  look  Lady  Ongar  in  the 
face  again  ?  Do  you  really  know  so  little  of 
the  world  that  you  must  choose  the  rooms  of 
the  most  disreputable  woman  in  London  for 
your  eclat  —  and  insult  her,  into  the  bargain, 
that  she  may  not  leave  you  as  much  charac- 
ter even  as  herself  ?  " 

"  Mais,  if  it  comes  to  that,"  answered  the 
other,  striving  in  vain  to  keep  the  sound  of 
tears  from  her  voice,  and  still  looking  stead- 
ily away,  "  if  it  comes  to  that,  Lady  Kil- 
croney,  the  question  may  well  be  —  how 
comes  it  that  you  should  bring  one  who  is 
your  guest  into  the  company  of  the  most  dis- 
reputable woman  in  London  ?  " 

"  I  —  bring  you  ?  "  cried  Kitty,  clapping 
her  soft  palms  together.  "  Now,  Heaven 
grant  me  patience!  I,  bring  you,  child? 
Did  I  not  do  all  that  a  hostess  in  civility  can 
do  to  keep  you  at  home  ?  Did  I  not  tell 
[126] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


you  there  was  gaming?  Did  I  not  hint  to 
you  that  you  would  do  well  to  visit  your 
mother?  Did  I  not  —  only  this  very  even- 
ing—  bid  you  (if  you  would  take  my  advice) 
to  bed  early,  to  get  back  your  country  roses, 
which  are  fast  withering,  my  dear?  Short  of 
telling  you  plain  I  'd  as  lief  not  have  your 
company,  Madam,  pray,  how  would  you  have 
had  me  act  ?  " 

There  was  a  stricken  silence  from  the  young 
culprit  on  the  bed.  This  was  all  so  literally 
true  that,  in  sooth,  even  her  active  tongue 
had  no  answer  ready.  Presently,  however,  a 
retort  suggested  itself. 

"  I  marvel,  Lady  Kilcroney,  that  a  lady  de 
votre  condition  should  herself  frequent  such  a 
house  !  How  could  I,  your  guest — " 

"Oh,  you  marvel,  Madam,  do  you?" 
Kitty  took  a  couple  of  steps  nearer  the  bed. 
"  Well,  't  is  but  natural,  I  suppose,  you 
should  marvel.  I  go  there,  Lady  Anne,  for 
a  reason  you,  indeed,  would  be  little  like  to 
understand.  I  go  there  —  that  my  husband 
may  not  go  alone." 

"  As  you  say,"  flashed  back  Lady  Anne, 
turning  full  now  upon  her  adversary,  "  hav- 
[  127] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


ing  myself  a  husband,  my  Lady  Kilcroney. 
who,  Dieu  merci  I  can  be  trusted  to  look 
after  himself,  't  is  little  like  I  could  have  a 
fellow-feeling  for  such  motives." 

"  Nay,  poor  man,"  quoth  Kitty,  smiling  in 
a  quite  intolerable  manner,  "  't  is  all  the  other 
way  in  your  menage^  my  love.  And,  indeed, 
'tis  avast  deal  of  looking  after  you  require, 
as  the  worthy  gentleman  your  husband  has 
found  out  to-night  to  his  cost.  I  believe 
you  would  have  been  at  a  pretty  pass,  indeed, 
had  he  not  stepped  to  your  rescue.  I  am 
given  to  understand  that  your  cantrips  have 
cost  him  nothing  short  of  a  thousand  pounds, 
besides  the  scandal  of  the  business.  I  fear 
he  will  end  by  finding  you  an — an  expen- 
sive luxury,  my  sweet  child!" 

She  waited  a  second,  her  eyes  sparkling, 
her  wicked,  witty  mouth  curled  upon  a  scorn- 
ful smile.  This  time  Nan  had  positively 
nothing  to  say.  After  a  triumphant  pause  : 

"  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  rest,"  cried  Lady 
Kilcroney  in  delicate  derision,  made  a  very 
rustling  curtsey,  took  up  her  candlestick, 
and  retired. 


C   H  A   P  T 


•H- 


CHAPTER    IX 


HE  fair  skirmishers  met 
again  at  that  late  break- 
fast over  which  the 
whilom  lazy  Kitty  had 
(since  her  marriage)  made 
it  a  rule  always  to  pre- 
side. Gone  were  the  days 
when  she  supped  her 
creamy  chocolate  and 
nibbled  her  biscuits  in 
the  shadow  of  rosy  bed- 
curtains;  when  she 
vowed  that  the  world  was 
not  mellow  enough  for 
her  countenance  before 
noon ! 

Kilcroney  had  asserted 

that  he  could  not  swallow  a  mouthful ;  that 
every  bit  he  took,  by  the  powers,  had  no  taste 
in  it  unless  his  little  darling  sat  opposite  to 
him.  And  the  lady  was  wise  in  the  ways  of 
men.  She  knew  that  if  a  fond  husband  (who 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY   ANNE 


is  at  the  same  time  decidedly  a  gregarious 
soul)  be  left  solitary  by  his  wife,  he  must 
inevitably  seek  other  company  in  the  end. 

Lady  Anne  was  elaborately  civil  to  her 
hostess  this  morning.  Lady  Kilcroney,  on 
her  side,  was  kind  and  gentle :  nay,  almost 
tender  in  her  manner. 

But  the  genial  presence  of  Kilcroney  him- 
self was  missing  at  the  meal,  and  his  wife 
made  no  reference  to  the  fact.  On  the 
whole  it  was  a  dismal  repast.  Kitty  crum- 
bled her  bread,  glanced  at  the  clock,  started 
at  the  least  sound,. and  now  and  again  cast 
looks  of  compassion,  almost  of  sorrow,  at  her 
companion.  The  latter,  with  no  more  pro- 
nounced appetite,  was  infinitely  more  com- 
posed. One  would  have  thought  that,  in  the 
over-night  events,  it  was  Kitty  who  had  been 
the  sinner  and  Nan  the  creature  of  superior 
virtue,  wisdom,  and  disapproval. 

Suddenly  Lady  Kilcroney  sprang  to  her 
feet ;  her  face  went  pale.  Nan  stared  at  her 
in  amazement.  The  next  instant  Lord  Kil- 
croney entered  the  room.  The  eyes  of  hus- 
band and  wife  met  —  hers  full  of  anxious 
inquiry  —  and  the  man  gave  a  little  nod. 
[  132  ] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY   ANNE 


He  looked  vastly  tired  (vastly  dissipated, 
thought  Lady  Anne  severely),  with  heavy 
eyes  that  evidently  had  not  closed  all  night, 
and  deep  lines  of  fatigue  round  his  hand- 
some mouth  ;  but  vastly  good-humoured  for 
all  that. 

The  Squire's  wife  went  on  primly  break- 
ing tiny  pieces  off  her  bread-roll,  and  occa- 
sionally popping  one  between  her  lips.  She 
might  be  all  that  was  remiss  in  a  wife  (as 
Kitty  had  given  her  to  understand),  but, 
upon  her  soul,  she  had  more  spirit  in  her 
than  to  permit  her  husband  to  walk  in  from 
the  street  to  breakfast  after  so  evidently 
makinsr  a  ni^ht  of  it.  If  that  was  not  the 

o  o 

self-same  lavender  coat  and  the  blush-pink 
waistcoat  he  had  sported  at  the  gambling- 
rooms,  then  had  Nan  no  eye  for  colour. 

All  at  once  she  became  aware  that  an  ex- 
traordinary agitation  had  taken  possession  of 
Kitty  —  the  little  Viscountess  seemed  to 
hesitate  between  smiles  and  tears. 

"  Kitty,  me  darling,"  said  Lord  Kilcroney 

with  elaborate  carelessness,  "  what  have  you 

got  for  me  ?     Nay,  I  Ve  no  stomach  for  that 

hot- water   stuff   this    morning.     I   could  do 

[  133] 


£j  THE   HEART   OF    LADY   ANNE  gg 

with  a  round  of  beef  and  a  tankard.  You  '11 
be  hearing  news  presently,"  he  turned  point- 
edly to  Nan.  "  My  Lord  Sanquhar,  I  grieve 
to  say,  has  been  seized  with  an  inflammation 
of  the  lung.  You  will  read  of  it  in  the  Ga- 
zette to-morrow." 

"  Eh,  Mon  Dieu  !  \  is  a  sudden  illness," 
said  Nan,  her  heart  beginning  to  beat  so 
quickly  that  she  spoke  with  difficulty. 

"  Mighty  sudden,"  said  her  host,  with 
something  of  a  wink. 

O 

"  But  no  one  else  is  ill,  I  trust  ? "  put  in 
Kitty  quickly. 

"  Devil  a  bit,"  answered  Kilcroney,  with 
much  cheerfulness.  "  Every  one  the  better, 
I  should  say." 

The  tears  and  smiles  which  had  been 
struggling  for  possession  of  Lady  Kilcro- 
ney's  charming  minois  now  amicably  settled 
the  affair  between  them  and  appeared  to- 
gether. When  Kitty  smiled  she  was  be- 
witching, and  when  she  wept  she  was 
adorable  ;  when  she  smiled  and  wept  at  once 
she  was  altogether  distracting.  She  ran 
across  the  room  and,  to  Nan's  great  amaze- 
ment, caught  her  round  the  neck : 

[134] 


£j  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  $g 

"  My  dear,  my  dear-  "  she  said,  and  gave  a 
little  sob.  "  Kilcroney,  we  can  tell  her  now." 

"About  this  same  lung  of  Sanquhar's?" 
said  Kilcroney.  "  'T  is  not  astonishing  it 
should  ache  him,  considering  how  your  good 
husband  has  let  the  air  of  the  morning  in 
upon  it.  Raw  air  it  was,  begorrah  !  " 

"  My  husband  ?  "  said  Nan  haughtily. 

"  Oh !  you  understand  very  well,"  said 
Kitty,  giving  her  a  shake.  "  And  think 
what  it  would  have  been,  Nan,  if  he  had 
been  hurt  instead,  and  you  at  variance  with 
him  —  and  all  for  your  fault!" 

She  looked  across  at  her  own  lord,  her 
dark  eyes  misted  with  the  unwonted  softness 
of  her  shaken  mood.  She  wore  that  morn- 
ing pale  primrose  ribbons  to  her  muslin 
wrapper,  and  a  little  lace  cap  was  poised  on 
the  top  of  her  dark  curls,  just  clouded  with 
powder.  Denis  gazed  at  her,  enraptured. 
He  took  two  great  steps  towards  her,  and 
she  a  fluttering  trip  towards  him.  Then 
Lady  Anne,  holding  her  head  stiff  with  an 
air  of  great  decorum,  heard  the  sound  of  his 
fond  kiss.  Her  own  miserable  heart  swelled. 
She  was  palpitating,  too,  to  know  the  story. 

[135] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


Indeed,  from  the  first  mention  of  Lord  San- 
quhar's  name,  in  a  flash  she  had  realised 
something  of  what  must  have  taken  place. 
But  certain  situations  demand  a  very  special 
dignity,  and  no  situation  more  than  that  of 
being  thoroughly  in  the  wrong. 

"  'Pon  my  soul,"  said  his  Lordship,  sinking 
down  into  his  chair  and  looking  already 
prodigious  refreshed,  although  the  tankard 
and  cold  beef  were  as  yet  untouched,  "  't  was 
the  neatest  thing  I  ever  saw  in  me  life. 
That  husband  of  yours,  Lady  Nan,  is  the 
boy  for  my  money."  He  took  up  the  carv- 
ing-knife to  help  himself,  but  paused,  in  a 
smiling  reminiscence,  balancing  it  in  his 
hand.  "  Bejabers  !  "  he  laughed.  "  There 
stood  Sanquhar  —  as  tight  a  fellow  as  you 
could  see  —  on  guard,  the  cock  of  Angelo's, 
and  ready,  by  thunder!  to  make  a  pretty 
widow  this  morning,  with  all  the  rules  of 
one-two-pink;  and  there  stood  my  man  — 
meaning  yours,  your  Ladyship  —  who  knows 
no  more  of  French  fa-fa  games  than  an 
English  bulldog.  But  he  knew  what  he 

o  o 

wanted.  Ladies,  I  'm  glad  you  did  not 
see  his  face:  'twould  have  spoilt  the  ele- 


THE    HEART    OF   LADY    ANNE 


gance  of  your  dreams  for  a  week  !  He  knew 
what  he  wanted,  and,  by  the  Lord,  he  took 
it !  Just  a  step  and  a  thrust,  his  own  great 
chest  as  uncovered  as  be-damned.  It  gave 
me  a  twist  down  the  back,  I  can  tell  you, 
to  have  to  stand  and  watch  his  reckless- 
ness." 

The  speaker  made  a  neat  fencing  pass  at 
the  round  of  beef  with  strong  and  nimble 
wrist,  and  left  the  carving-knife  sticking  in 
the  joint.  Lady  Anne  gave  a  faint  cry  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  But  Kitty 
clapped  her  palms  together  and  crowed 
triumph  with  soft  and  cruel  joy.  "  'T  was  the 
quickest  meeting  I  ever  went  to,"  concluded 
Denis  with  satisfaction. 

He  drew  his  weapon  out  of  the  beef  and 
began  to  slice  with  great  gusto.  Then 
presently  he  resumed: 

"  My  Lord  Sanquhar  was  the  one  who 
was  puzzled !  By  George,  he  was  so  much 
taken  aback  that  he  had  n't  time  to  be  aston- 
ished. He  drops  me  his  sword,  he  claps 
me  his  hand  over  his  side,  and  stares.  And 
then  he  goes  as  red  as  the  blood  that 's 
creeping  out  between  his  fingers ;  and  then 

[  137] 


THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE 


as  white  as  the  shirt  against  it.  He  staggers 
and  then  gets  a  hold  of  his  ground  again, 
and  he  stares  at  my  man,  and  my  man  stares 
him  back.  And,  by  the  Lord,  we  were  as 
quiet  as  mice  about  them  —  as  if  the  fight 
were  still  going  on.  Then  Sanquhar's  face 
begins  to  work.  I  think  it  was  trying  to 
smile  he  was,  but  he  looked  like  a  devil. 
And  he  fumbles  with  his  right  hand  in  his 
breeches  pocket  and  draws  out  a  bit  of  paper. 
And  he  begins  to  tear  at  it  between  his 
right  hand  and  his  teeth,  still  clapping  his 
side  with  the  left.  '  Mr.  Day,'  he  calls,  *  Mr. 
Day !  I  'd  have  taken  your  wife,  but  I  '11  be 
d— d  if  I  take  your  money ! '  And,  with  that, 
he  crumples  up  in  a  heap  on  the  ground." 

Lady  Anne  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  single 
spring.  Her  blue  eyes  blazed  from  out  her 
pale  face  on  her  good-natured  host. 

"  How  dare  you  !  "  she  said.  "  How  dare 
you,  Sir,  repeat  this  insult  to  me?"  She 
rushed  for  the  door  with  a  great  scolding 
of  silks.  "  I  hope  Lord  Sanquhar  will  die !  " 
she  cried  from  the  threshold,  with  des- 
perate intensity. 


^A^\a^&^^£>a»:^^».^^^ 


C  H   A    P    I     1 


•H- 


CHAPTER   X 


ADY  FLORA  DARESTAMER 
was  at  home  to  her  friends 
at  Elm  Park  House  on 
the  evening  of  the  fifth  of 
June.  She  requested  their 
presence  in  maschera. 
Lady  Kilcroney  tossed  her 
head  on  receiving  the 
handsome  card,  engraved 
in  charming  style  by  Mr. 
Cipriani. 

"  I  see  myself  in  that 
rabble  !  "  quoth  she. 

Now  this  was  scarcely 
fair  on  Lady  Flo,  who, 
good-natured  as  she  was, 
knew  very  well  how  to 

keep    her   celebrated    parties   vastly    select. 

But    she    was    none    of     Kitty    Kilcroney's 

friends,  and  Kitty  Kilcroney  had  no  pleasant 

souvenir  of  Elm  Park  House. 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE   gg 

Moreover,  the  little  lady  had  begun  to 
find  that  Nan's  pie  was  considerably  too  hot 
for  her  pretty  fingers.  She  had  had,  after 
the  Sanquhar  duel,  a  stormy  visit  from  my 
Lady  Ongar,  who  had  hitherto  kept  pru- 
dently aloof  from  the  house  which  sheltered 
her  rebellious  daughter. 

The  fat  Countess  had  displayed  a  deal  of 
vivacity  in  the  encounter.  Between  indig- 
nant interjections  of  French  Mon  Dieus  and 
English  "  Hoity-toities,"  the  irate  mother 
had  contrived  to  make  some  very  shrewish 
digs  at  the  Viscountess's  own  past  —  a  past 
which,  if  vivacious,  was  nevertheless  a  record 
of  such  virtue  that  Kitty  was  proportionately 
furious  at  her  visitor's  innuendoes.  There 
had  been,  therefore,  a  very  pretty  passage 
of  arms  between  the  two  dames;  but  upon 
Lady  Kilcroney's  triumphant  curtseying  forth 
of  her  antagonist,  it  was  only  the  proper 
sense  of  what  was  due  to  herself  that  made 
her  resolve,  in  righteous  defiance,  to  keep 
Lady  Anne  for  the  rest  of  the  season.  For, 
truth  to  tell,  she  was  already  so  heartily  sick 
of  her  position  as  chaperon  that,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  mother's  ill-advised  step,  it  is 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


probable  that  Kitty  would  have  traversed  her 
lord's  hospitable  commands,  and,  after  some 
manner  only  known  to  feminine  ingenuity, 
very  soon  have  driven  Lady  Nan  elsewhere. 

Thus  the  Kilcroney  mansion  could  not  be 
said  to  be  now  a  very  harmonious  abode. 
But  Nan  was  more  determined  than  ever  to 
remain,  in  spite  of  her  hostess's  perceptibly 
sour-sweet  demeanour.  Pride  for  pride,  she 
had  rather  bide,  an  unwelcome  guest,  than 
return  home,  an  unwelcome  wife.  Another 
small  diplomatic  movement  that  she  had 
made  towards  her  husband  had  met  with  the 
same  torturing  result  —  utmost  generosity 
of  hand  combined  with  utmost  unresponsive- 
ness  of  heart. 

It  was  but  a  short  letter  that  she  had  sent 
him  —  upon  a  mere  matter  of  business  :  one 
of  the  greys  having  fallen  lame ;  but  surely, 
surely,  he  might  have  read  between  the 
lines  ! 

"I  am  so  sorry"  —  so  it  ran  —  "I  hope 
you  won't  be  angry.  Town  life  is  very  try- 
ing; but  I  can  quite  well  do  with  two  horses. 
And  if  it  gets  rest  at  deare  Queen's  Comp- 
ton,  it  must  soon  recover."  She  further 

[143] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


hoped  that  Philip  was  very  well  and  that 
Philip's  mother  was  very  well.  She  sent 
her  love.  She  remained  his  dutiful  wife. 
P.S.  —  Town  was  very  hot. 

To  this  letter  she  had  received  no  reply, 
unless  the  prompt  substitution  of  another 
horse  for  the  lame  one  could  be  regarded 
as  such. 

Nan  was  very  angry,  with  the  deep  anger  of 
the  heart.  She  had  not  known  in  her  girl- 
hood that  one's  poor  body  could  be  so  torn 
with  ugly  passion.  So  be  it !  Now  she 
would  show  him  complete  indifference.  Now 
he  must  suffer  as  he  had  made  her  surfer 
Now  was  Lady  Anne  Day  to  prove  herself 
the  most  gay,  the  most  sought  after,  the 
most  famous  beauty  and  breaker  of  hearts  in 
all  London  Town. 

And  therefore  was  she  mightily  displeased 
at  Lady  Kilcroney's  decision  to  refuse  the 
Elm  Park  House  invitation ;  for  Lady 
Flora's  masques,  always  graced  by  royalty, 
were  beyond  compare  the  best  of  the  season's 
routs. 

She  turned  her  own  card  over  and  over 
between  her  fingers.  Emancipated  though 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


she  was,  she  could  hardly  make  up  her  rnind 
to  go  alone  ;  on  the  other  hand,  Lady  Ongar 
had  so  successfully  worked  among  her  friends 
that  Nan  dared  not  beg  another  matron's 
companionship. 

"  T  will  seem  vastly  strange  that  you  should 
absent  yourself,  surely,"  she  ventured,  at  first 
with  some  timidity. 

"  Nay,  my  love,"  returned  Kitty  sweetly. 
"  This  is  doubtless  an  evil  world,  but  there 
are  a  few  women  of  heart  and  conduct  left. 
No  one  will  wonder  at  a  wife  who  likes  to 
spend  an  evening  at  home  now  and  again 
with  her  husband.  You  have  such  French 
notions,  my  dearest  dear  ! " 

Woman  of  the  world  as  she  strove  to  be, 
Nan  could  never  keep  the  tell-tale  blood 
from  rushing  to  her  face  ;  but  she  was  learn- 
ing fast  to  whet  the  sharpness  of  her  own 
tongue  against  Lady  Kilcroney's. 

"  Nay,  a  thousand  pardons,  Kitty,"  she 
cried,  opening  her  eyes  with  that  expression 
of  candour  which  most  exasperated  her 
hostess.  "  I  should  have  remembered  you 
have  indeed  most  excellent  reasons  for  keep- 
ing away  from  Lady  Flo's." 

10  [  H5  ] 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

"  How  now,  chit  ?  "  cried  Kitty  hotly. 

"  'T  would  be,  peut-etre,  a  most  unpleasant 
encounter." 

"  The  child  is  raving !  " 

"  My  Lord  Mandeville  is  safe  to  be  there 
with  his  beautiful  Countess.  People  would 
be  watching  you,  ma  pauvre  amie.  'T  would 
be  hard,  indeed,  to  wear  a  fitting  counte- 
nance." 

"  Your  ignorance,  my  angel,  is  the  only 
thing  that  excuses  your  absurdity.  Pray  be 
assured  that  I  shall  ever  meet  my  Lord 
Mandeville  with  calm  pulses.  I  hear  the 
creature's  grown  fat — but  I  still  take  an 
interest  in  his  wife." 

" Oh,  sans  doute"  commented  Anne,  with 
an  acid  giggle. 

"  Faith,  Nan,"  said  Kitty,  gazing  at  her 
with  disapproval,  "  I  Ve  made  a  mistake. 
Town  is  no  school  for  you.  Your  head  is 
not  strong  enough  to  bear  it.  And  your 
poor  husband  was  in  the  right  of  it.  Pray 
do  not  bring  your  bits  of  slanderous  gossip 
into  my  house.  People  in  our  position  will 
be  lied  about,  no  doubt,  but  people  of  our 
breeding  pay  no  heed  to  such  low  scandals." 
[146] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


"  If  you  refer,"  saic^  Lady  Anne  calmly, 
"  to  the  fact  that  my  Lord  Mandeville  had 
the  bad  taste  to  prefer  une  fille  de  theatre 
to  yourself,  although  you  would,  perhaps, 
not  have  said  him  nay,  I  beg  to  state,  my 
Lady  Kilcroney,  that  I  have  it  on  most 
respectable  authority." 

"  Respectable  authority  !  "  echoed  Kitty, 
very  angry  indeed.  "Why,  'tis  the  vilest 
falsehood  !  I  wonder  at  you  that  you  have 
the  face  to  repeat  it.  And  who,  Madam, 
pray,  told  you  that  fine  tale  ?  " 

"  'T  was  yourself,  dear  Kitty,"  cooed  my 
Lady  Anne. 

"  I  ?  "  cried  Lady  Kilcroney.  Her  eyes 
flashed.  Then  —  for  she  had  a  sense  of 
humour  —  she  broke  into  rippling  laughter. 
"  Did  I  ?  Was  it  possible  that  lonce  thought 
so  well  of  you  as  to  make  you  my  confidante  ? 
Why,  then,  you  're  sadly  changed  for  the 
worse,  Nan,  and  I  '11  not  bring  you  to  Elm 
Park  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself  in  a  mask. 
Look  you  for  another  escort,  or  go  alone, 
if  you  '11  not  take  my  advice  and  stay  at 
home  quietly." 

Though     she   walked    out    of    the    room 

[-47] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


laughing,  my  Lady  Kilcroney  loved  the 
Lady  Anne  Day  none  the  dearer  for  this 
conversation.  And  Lady  Anne  Day,  though 
she  fell  to  sad  brooding  the  instant  her 
friend's  back  was  turned,  was  none  the  less 
resolved  upon  Elm  Park  House. 


•K 


CHAPTER   XI 


(ELANCHOLY  in  solitude 
can  be  almost  a  pleasing 
sensation ;  but  melancholy 
in  the  midst  of  a  gay  crowd 
is  intolerable.  The  masque 
at  Elm  Park  House  was  as 
flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable 
an  evening  as  French  Nan 
had  yet  spent  since  she  had 
left  the  Rue  St.  Honore. 

The  fruit  of  her  own  way 
was  indeed  bitter  to-night 
between  her  teeth.  For  es- 
cort during  the  long  lonely 
drive  she  had  at  last,  in 
sheer  desperation,  fixed  upon 
her  cousin  Damory.  That 
youth  was,  certes,  no  interesting  personality ; 
but  at  any  rate,  tongues  could  not  wag  too 
freely  over  her  choice,  nor  evil  minds  impute 
to  her  any  desire  for  dangerous  company. 
His  vacuity,  however,  did  not  tend  to  make 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


her  forget  her  private  troubles.  Without 
even  the  spice  of  risk  to  make  her  pulses 
beat  the  faster,  her  escapade  to-night  became 
the  veriest  boredom. 

She  could  hardly  keep  her  mouth,  under 
the  hanging  lace  of  the  mask,  from  un- 
measured yawning.  Around  her  a  hundred 
couples  flirted  and  whispered.  One  could 
almost  hear  the  rustle  of  volatile  Cupid's 
wings,  the  hiss  of  his  tiny  arrows,  the  little 
cries  that  heralded  the  straightness  of  his 
aim. 

Some  gentlemen  were  masked,  others  not; 
but  the  ladies,  without  exception,  wore  their 
visards.  How  Lady  Kilcroney  would  have 
revelled  in  such  an  opportunity!  Nan  had 
been  thought  by  a  French  Court  to  have  a 
pretty  wit  of  her  own.  But  not  Wb&piquante 
sally  did  she  feel  spirit  enough  to  shoot  at 
the  most  provoking  beau  of  the  night  from 
her  coign  of  vantage  ;  not  a  gleam  of  the  eye 
did  she  find  the  strength  to  send  spark- 
ling, though  none  could  have  identified  the 
sender. 

She  sat,  she  walked,  she  danced  like  an 
automaton;  Cousin  Damory,  her  uninspir- 


THE    HEART   OF   LADY  ANNE 


ing  shadow,  his  vapid  comment  ever  in  her 
ear: 

"  Why,  Cousin  Nan!  Look  at  that  fellow! 
Did  you  see  that  pair,  Cousin  Nan  ?  I  vow 
that 's  Sukey  ;  she  's  been  following  my  Lord 
Verney  the  whole  evening !  See,  he  's  got 
up  again  and  gone  away  !  D'  ye  think  she  '11 
run  him  down,  Cousin  Nan  ?  He,  he !  I 
would  n't  like  to  have  Sukey  after  me.  She  's 
a  prodigious  persevering  girl,  is  Sukey —  he, 
he  !  Cousin  Nan,  what  a  little  ear  you  have 
got;  'tis  just  like  a  little  pink  shell,  Cousin 
Nan  !  " 

A  hundred  times  Nan  pettishly  protested 
that  she  would  endure  no  more  of  this  in- 
sufferable tedium,  but  must  have  her  coach 
instantly.  Yet  each  time  she  lingered.  It 
seemed  a  final  humiliation  to  depart  thus 
without  even  the  poor  reward  of  her  audacity. 

In  truth,  Nan  was  but  a  little  coward  at 
heart.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ventured 
into  company  without  Kitty  Kilcroney's  airy 
protection.  She  did  not  drive  Damory  from 
her  elbow  —  dull  dog  as  he  was  —  for  to 
find  herself  alone  among  this  daring  crowd 
would  have  meant  giddy  terror. 

[•53] 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  & 

"  Fie,  little  mask,"  said  a  man's  voice  in 
her  ear;  "where  were  you  brought  up  that 
you  do  not  know  the  golden  motto:  *  Waste 
not,  want  not ' !  " 

Nan  wheeled  round.  A  pair  of  pale-blue 
eyes  were  fixing  her  with  singular  and  un- 
pleasant steadiness  through  a  black  visard, 
so  close  to  her  that  she  started  back.  Then, 
rallying,  with  a  feeble  effort  at  coquetry : 
"  Need  speech  be  masked  as  well  as  face 
to-night  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh !  little  mask,"  answered  the  other, 
sinking  into  the  chair  behind  her  and  lean- 
ing over  to  whisper  into  her  ear,  "  words  are 
like  faces,  and  we  put  masks  upon  them  to 
tempt  others  to  look  for  the  beauty  beneath. 
Waste  not  your  sweetness,  for  if  you  husband 
not  good  fortune  to-night,  you  may  want 
to-morrow." 

"  Husband  good  fortune  ?  "  she  queried 
vaguely,  edging  away  from  the  gaze  and  the 
whisper,  that  troubled  her,  she  knew  not  why. 

"  And  what 's  he  saying,  Cousin  Nan  ?  " 
inquired  Damory,  with  a  pull  at  her  sleeve. 

Truly  masques  were  an  intolerable  pleas- 
ure ! 

[154] 


OH!   LITTLE   MASK"—  Page  154 


COPYRIGHT,      1905,     HY     F.     A.     STOKES     CO. 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


"  Husband,"  repeated  he  of  the  pale,  fixed 
eyes,  leaning  forward  as  she  withdrew. 
"  Nay,"  came  the  whisper  in  her  ear,  "  what 
a  word  !  Let  no  one  ever  speak  of  husbands 
—  the  name  shall  be  obliterated.  Let  it  be 
lover  in  our  book !  " 

Nan  turned  her  little  chin  sharply  away 
and  made  as  if  she  heard  not.  On  went  the 
soft,  evil  whisper: 

"  Have  you  met  with  no  such  word  in 
your  dictionary,  sweet  one?  Shall  we  then 
not  turn  the  leaves  and  look  for  it  together  ? 
Oh,  it  is  such  a  pretty  page  !  It  begins  with 
Love,  Loveable,  and  goes  on  softly:  Lovelorn, 
Lovely  —  Lover,  Loving." 

The  whisper  became  so  insidious,  the  pres- 
ence across  her  chair  so  pressingly  close, 
that  Nan  rose  in  a  flutter  and  sharply  com- 
manded Lord  Damory  to  order  their  coach 
without  an  instant's  delay. 

But  now  she  reckoned  without  her  host, 
for  Damory  would  not  leave  without  sup- 
ping. No  —  not  for  a  thousand  Nans ! 
And  here  was  once  again  sad  proof  of  the 
inconveniency  of  mere  cousins  as  cavaliers. 

To  the  supper-room  had  Nan  to  go.     In 

[155] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


the  supper-room  she  had  to  sit,  while  Damory 
ate  and  drank  in  maddening  deliberation  - 
if,  indeed,  such  a  word  could  be  applied  to 
the   rapidity  with   which   he  absorbed  glass 
after  glass  of  Lady  Flo's  celebrated  Sillery. 

To  her  terror  the  mask  with  the  blue  eyes 
followed  her;  in  spite  of  her  determinedly 
hunched  shoulder  and  an  icy  assumption 
of  deafness  the  whisper  still  kept  dropping 
words  that  alternately  drove  the  angry  blood 
to  her  cheek  or  drained  the  colour  even 
from  her  lips  with  an  unreasoning  sense  of 
danger. 

At  last  Damory  was  dragged  to  the  hall  — 
an  even  more  garrulous  and  cheerful  Damory 
than  before.  And  Nan  stood,  tapping  her 
little  foot  on  the  step  of  the  granite  porch, 
impatiently  waiting  the  coming  up  of  the 
greys,  gathering  courage  at  the  moment  of 
escape,  though  the  insolent  blue-eyed  whis- 
perer stood  but  a  pace  behind  her. 

"  Will  you  not  let  Cousin  Damory  go  back 
to  the  capons,  sweetheart,  and  give  me  his 
seat  ?  Cousin  Damory  will  but  send  you  to 
sleep  on  the  way  — and,  by  all  the  little  gods, 
this  night  never  was  made  for  sleep!" 


THE   HEART   OF   LADY   ANNE 


"  What  if  I  prefer  to  sleep  in  a  coach  ? " 
cried  the  emboldened  Nan. 

"  Ah,  then,  again,  sweet  mask,  would  you 
do  well  to  take  me !  I  will  give  you  a  pretty 
dream — Lord,  what  a  dull  dream  will  you 
have  if  you  trust  to  Cousin  Damory!" 

"  How,  Sir? "  said  Damory,  wheeling  round 
at  the  sound  of  his  name.  The  Sillery  was 
scintillating  in  his  usually  placid  brain. 

The  greys  drew  up  —  all  silver  in  the 
moonlight,  champing  and  stamping.  'T  was 
a  noble  team,  an  equipage  for  a  queen. 

"Choose  —  choose  quickly!"  bade  Nan's 
tormentor.  "  Little  lady,  if  you  take  me,  we 
shall  drive  into  fairyland!  " 

"  My  destination  is  Mayfair,"  cried  Nan 
tartly,  as  she  ran  down  the  steps. 

"  With  me  you  would  reach  Mayfair  in 
due  safety,  my  dream-princess,  but,  as  I  say, 
by  way  of  fairyland.  'T  is  ever,  alas!  the 
shortest  road." 

"  But  I  prefer  the  safest,"  retorted  Nan 
with  an  angry  laugh,  thrusting  her  head 
out  of  the  window.  "  Come  along,  Cousin 
Damory!  " 

The  blue-eyed  mask  burst  into  a  laugh ; 

[157] 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  £g 

and  the  laugh  was  taken  up  in  titters  by 
one  or  two  curious  spectators  as  Damory 
clambered  in. 

"  Oh,  ay ! "  cried  the  rejected  escort,  no 
whit  discomfited,  it  seemed.  "  Ay,"  he  cried 
loudly  and  derisively,  "  if  't  is  safety  is  your 
aim,  pretty  Nan,  you  've  chosen  prodigious 
wise  to-night !  You  will  tell  me  some  day 
how  it  likes  your  Ladyship  after  a  fair 
trial !  " 

"  Drive  on  !  "  shouted  Damory  furiously ; 
and  the  greys  sprang  forward  clattering. 

"  By  your  leave,  Sir,"  said  a  stern  voice 
behind  him.  A  tall  masked  man  pushed 
somewhat  roughly  by  him,  ran  down  the 
steps,  and  swung  himself  on  a  sturdy  bay 
horse,  which  had  been  led  up  in  the  wake 
of  the  coach  by  a  servant  in  plain  livery. 

"  I  shall  know  the  cut  of  those  shoulders 
again,"  said  Jim  Devlin,  as  he  stood  looking 
after  the  departing  guests,  ruminating.  He 
doffed  his  mask  and  strolled  back  to  the 
revels. 


^34— 4X—^ 


/  / /_/ i \_ 

7i      II       \\ 


ss-LS3&^3&^3&i^S(&^&t£!&^&S3SS&j^^!iz-ifffl^pffE5%&KSi&jjic£ 


C  H  A  P  T   1    fk 


x  1 1 


•H- 


CHAPTER   XII 


OUSIN    DAMORY, 

valiant  with  the 
spark  of  Sillery,  was 
in  high  condition  of 
mingled  fury  and 
yx'  enterprise.  Safe, 
quotha!  —  safe,  in- 
deed !  He  would 
soon  show  them! 
The  meaner  the 
masculine  intellect, 
the  more  enraging 
such  a  suggestion. 
But,  indeed,  even  the 
most  gifted  youth 
would  hardly  regard 
a  beautiful  woman's 

unlimited  confidence  when  alone  with  him 

as  a  compliment. 

"Jim  Devlin  is  an  ass,  and-    "  he  began, 

fury  having  the  upper  hand. 
»  [  161  ] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


"Was,  then,  yonder  mask  Jim  Devlin?" 
commented  Nan,  a  small,  cold  shiver  upon 
her,  she  scarce  knew  why.  "  'T  is  the  devil 
himself "  had  said  Kitty.  What  strain  of 
unsuspected  wickedness  must  be  in  her,  that 
she,  Nan,  should  yet  feel  a  sort  of  fascination 
at  the  back  of  her  fear  of  this  "  devil  "  !  She 
pulled  off  her  mask,  for  she  felt  half  stifled 
with  her  own  blushes. 

"  'T  was  prodigious  well  of  you,  Cousin 
Nan,  that  you  should  choose  me  for  your 
escort,"  proceeded  Lord  Damory,  enterprise 
rising.  "  I  feel  prodigious  flattered  at  your 
preference,  dear  cousin." 

Lady  Anne,  from  her  troubling  occupa- 
tions, cast  upon  him  an  indifferent  glance. 
What  ailed  the  fool  that  he  should  edge  so 
close  to  her?  She  pointed  her  elbow  to 
keep  him  in  his  place. 

They  were  whirling  along  at  a  fine  pace, 
the  greys  drumming  a  rhythm  of  haste  upon 
the  silent  night.  The  waste  fields  were  all 
gossamer  sparkling  in  the  moonlight.  The 
airs  which  their  own  speed  caught  from  the 
still  atmosphere  fanned  Nan's  hot  cheek  and 
set  her  curls  dancing,  but  they  could  not 
[162] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


cool  Cousin  Damory's  ardour.  Vaguely  he 
felt,  besides  the  stimulus  of  wine  and  taunt, 
that  here  indeed  was  an  opportunity  for  your 
buck — egad,  one  of  positive  obligation  ! 

He  began  to  steal  a  tentative  hand  round 
the  trim  bodice  beside  him. 

"  Oh  !"  —  she  started. 

"  Why,  you  're  never  frightened  of  me  ?  " 

" Of  you  ?  " 

Might  he  not  have  read  warning  upon 
that  contemptuous  lip?  But  shades  of  ex- 
pression are  not  for  the  Damorys  of  this 
world.  His  left  arm  closed  round  the 
slender  waist;  and,  in  spite  of  pointing 
elbow,  it  was  joined  by  the  right,  so  that 
he  held  her  encircled. 

"I  vow  —  in  the  moonlight,"  he  cried, 
groping  after  some  dimly  perceived  romance, 
"  you  're  so  prodigious  pretty,  Cousin  Nan  ! 
You  chose  me,  did  not  you  ? "  And  upon 
this  he  kissed  all  he  could  reach  of  her  —  the 
back  of  her  round  white  neck. 

Had  Nan  met  these  advances  either  as  a 

jest  between  kin  or  with  repressive  coldness, 

she  might  promptly  have  had  the  better  of 

Lord    Damory.     But   in    her   inexperience, 

[163] 


gg  THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  $g 

with  cries  and  angry  ejaculations,  she  fell 
to  righting  like  an  angry  wild  thing.  And, 
the  situation  mounting  to  his  weak  brain, 
even  as  had  the  Sillery,  Damory  was  but 
stimulated.  In  sooth,  he  was  prodigiously 
elated.  Egad,  what  a  dangerous  fellow 
must  he  be !  Yet,  in  her  encompassing 
indignation,  it  was  the  contemptible  person- 
ality of  her  assailant  that  seemed  the  un- 
bearable side  of  the  outrage  in  her  eyes. 

"  Let  go  of  me,  you  fool !  For  shame  of 
you,  Cousin  Damory !  My  footman  shall 
throw  you  on  the  road  in  a  minute,  Sir! 
Hey,  John  — John!" 

But  her  delicate  little  pipe  was  lost  in  the 
song  of  flying  iron  hoofs  and  the  humming 
of  wheels. 

And  it  is  quite  possible  that  Cousin 
Damory  might  have  succeeded  in  actually 
planting  a  second  salute,  in  spite  of  the 
fierce  fingers  that  nipped  and  slapped,  had 
not  the  coach  been  so  suddenly  drawn  up 
that  both  occupants  were  thrown  forward 
with  a  jerk.  When  they  raised  themselves, 
there  was  such  a  scrimmage  in  the  world 
about  them  that  it  was  many  seconds  before 
[164] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


either  of  them  could  grasp  the  situation. 
But  when,  to  the  shouting  of  footman  and 
coachman,  to  the  plunging  of  the  horses, 
to  the  rough,  threatening  accents  of  un- 
known voices,  was  added  the  vision  of  a 
loathsome  cloth-covered  countenance  at 
either  window,  the  horrible  circumstances 
became  but  too  plain  —  the  coach  had 
been  stopped  by  footpads. 

What  a  prize  for  such  birds  of  prey  was 
the  gay  coach  with  the  silver  steeds,  the 
bejewelled  lady ! 

And  where,  now,  were  Cousin  Damory's 
ardours?  Where  his  unwonted  exhilara- 
tion ?  Woe  was  him,  why  had  not  that 
foolish  Nan  fixed  upon  another  cavalier  — 
why  had  she  insisted  on  returning  before 
the  broad  day  and  its  safety  ? 

He  thought  of  the  diamond  brooch  in  his 
scarf,  of  the  diamond  buckles  on  his  shoes, 
of  his  two  watches  and  the  snuff-box  with 
the  great  emerald  that  his  Grace  of  Marl- 
borough  had  given  his  grandfather.  He 
thought  of  the  gold-hilted  sword  and  its  inesti- 
mable artistic  worth ;  but,  strangely  enough, 
my  Lord  Damory  never  once  thought  of 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY   ANNE 


using  it,  though  it  lay  in  brave  display  on 
the  seat  before  him. 

He  huddled  himself  in  his  cloak  and 
shrank  back  in  his  corner  as  far  as  possible 
from  a  detestable  rusty  barrel  which  his  own 
special  ruffian  had  thrust  crashing  towards 
him  through  the  glass. 

"  How,  Cousin  Damory,  have  yoii  no  pis- 
tols? Juste  del,  where  are  your  pistols?" 
cried  Nan  in  high,  indignant  tones. 

She  sat  very  upright;  and,  through  the 
open  window,  over  the  head  of  her  new  un- 
welcome visitor,  a  bright  ray  of  moonlight 
showed  a  courageous  crimson  on  either  cheek. 
The  footpad  drew  back  to  look  at  her  through 
the  holes  of  his  filthy  face-cloth,  dropping 
the  pistol  from  its  threat. 

"Come,  pretty  bird — with  such  eyes  as 
those  you  '11  never  need  jewels,"  said  his 
greasy  voice  of  banter,  plentifully  interspersed 
with  oaths.  "I'd  never  hurry  a  lady  —  but 
business  is  business,  and  our  business  is  of 
quick  bargain,  d'  ye  see.  I  '11  have  them  dia- 
monds from  your  ears,  please,  my  lady  —  " 

"  Come,  Sir,"  said  the  less  accommodating 
trader  on  the  other  side,  "out  with  the 
[166] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


shiners  first,  and  presto  !  My  barker  has  a 
trick  of  going  off  by  itself  if  it's  kept  wait- 
ing —  mark  you  !  " 

"  Your  sword,  cousin,  your  sword ! "  shrieked 
Nan,  in  an  ecstasy  of  exasperation,  as  she 
made  a  futile  effort  to  pull  up  the  window 
between  herself  and  her  assailant ;  and  the 
ruffian  on  Damory's  side,  with  a  hoarse 
"  Thanking  you  for  the  hint,  Ma'am,"  neatly 
culled  the  weapon  in  question  from  the 
cushion. 

Here  Lord  Damory  raised  a  plaintive  ob- 
jurgation, for  the  rim  of  the  rusty  pistol  had 
touched  his  cheek. 

"  Give  up  your  diamonds,  for  God's  sake, 
Nan,  and  your  necklace  too,  or  we  shall 
both  be  slaughtered !  "  he  groaned.  He  was 
diving  for  his  purse  with  tremulous  haste 
himself. 

"  You  'd  better  step  out,  Sir,"  said  the 
man  on  Nan's  side,  throwing  out  the  sugges- 
tion with  a  grin.  "  As  for  me,  I  should  be 
loth  to  spoil  a  lady's  beauty  —  but  those  ear- 
rings will  come  quick  enough  if  I  pluck  them 
for  myself."  So  saying,  he  stretched  a  grimy 
hand  towards  her  face. 

[167] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


At  this  instant,  above  the  oaths  and  shouts 
of  the  fighting  servants  outside  and  the  fran- 
tic struggles  of  the  horses  —  even  as  the 
ruffian  made  at  Nan's  necklace  a  plunge  so 
greedy  that  the  string  broke  and  a  milky 
shower  rained  over  her  brocades  —  there 
came  a  thunder  of  galloping  hoofs,  the  crack 
of  a  pistol,  then  a  shock  which  shook  the 
coach  on  its  springs.  Cousin  Damory's  par- 
ticular ruffian  suddenly  disappeared,  hurled 
as  it  were  away  from  the  window,  his  head 
striking  against  the  broken  glass  and  his  pis- 
tol dropping  upon  Damory's  lap.  The  piti- 
ful escort  seemed  almost  more  alarmed  than 
before  this  new  development ;  but  Nan,  quick 
as  thought,  picked  up  the  weapon  and  pointed 
it  at  her  own  momentarily  arrested  footpad. 
She  pulled  the  trigger:  there  was  a  flash  in 
the  pan  —  nothing  more,  to  her  immense 
disgust;  for  she  had  it  then  in  her  to  kill. 
But  behold  !  she  was  also  delivered.  A  blade 
twice  gleamed  blue  in  the  moonlight,  then 
howls  and  curses  took  the  place  of  oaths  and 
shouts.  John  footman's  honest  country  voice 
might  now  be  heard  raised  in  exultation. 
The  horses  gave  a  wild  plunge  forward,  then 
[168] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


were  again  arrested.  And  then  commanding 
accents  called : 

"  Let  the  rascals  run,  Basil.  We  Ve  settled 
three  of  them  ;  't  will  suffice  !  " 

Nan  popped  her  head  out  of  the  window. 
There,  as  clear  as  day,  she  beheld  two  horse- 
men—  one  evidently  a  servant,  the  other  as 
evidently  a  gentleman.  The  man's,  face  was 
unknown  to  her;  the  gentleman  was  masked. 
She  thought  of  Jim  Devlin  with  a  shudder 
that  the  highwayman  himself  had  not  evoked. 
But,  as  the  gentleman  dismounted,  flinging 
his  reins  to  the  servant,  she  marked  all  at 
once  that  the  stalwart  figure  of  their  rescuer 
was  very  different  from  the  slight  propor- 
tions of  the  mask  who  had  tormented  her  so 
persistently. 

He  walked  quickly  round  to  the  other  side 
of  the  coach  and  briskly  opened  the  door 
with  his  left  hand,  kicking  the  stunned  foot- 
pad aside. 

"  Sir,"  said  he  quietly  to  the  cowering 
Damory,  "  you  will  do  me  the  favour  to  de- 
scend this  instant." 

The  poor  young  nobleman  now  indeed 
believed  that  he  had  fallen  from  Charybdis 
[169] 


181  THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE   £1 

into  Scylla.  The  falcon  had  but  robbed  the 
kite  of  its  quarry,  it  was  clear;  and  matters 
were  no  better  for  the  quarry ;  nay,  worse ! 
A  filthy,  truculent  thief  on  foot  was  bad 
enough,  but  the  Gentleman  of  the  Road,  on 
horseback,  with  his  deadly  elegance,  with  his 
beau's  silken  mask  and  his  gleaming  sword, 
was  a  still  more  alarming  encounter.  Cousin 
Damory  clung  to  his  seat  with  both  hands. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  coach  walls,  as  if  even 
Nan's  presence  were  some  kind  of  protection. 

"Will  you  not  descend,  Sir?"  repeated 
the  firmly  polite  new-comer. 

And  as  the  other  still  sat  staring,  im- 
mobile, teeth  chattering,  the  supposed  high- 
wayman, with  a  laugh,  reversed  his  sword 
and  proceeded  to  dig  him  out  with  the  hilt. 
A  fine  grip  on  the  collar  aided  other  hints. 
Lord  Damory  found  himself  standing,  weak- 
kneed,  on  the  road,  beside  the  prostrate  thief. 
The  unknown,  his  sword  under  his  arm,  was 
surveying  him  with  eyes  that  had  (thought 
the  agitated  peer)  a  most  sinister  glow  be- 
hind the  visard. 

"  In  sooth,  Sir,"  said  the  gentleman  at  last, 
in  tones  that  were  like  the  sting  of  a  whip, 

[170] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


"  the  lady  who  has  chosen  you  as  escort  on 
the  road  displayed  a  most  prodigious  dis- 
cernment ! " 

From  within  the  coach  came  a  stifled  cry. 
Anne  fell  back,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

"  Is  that  your  sword,  Sir  ?  " 

Damory  jumped,  glanced  at  the  gold  hilt 
that  shone  star-like  on  the  ground  where  it 
had  fallen  from  the  footpad's  hand,  then 
nodded  forlornly.  No  hope  now  for  the  dia- 
mond shoe-buckles,  the  emerald  snuff-box, 
the  brooch,  the  watches  ! 

Slowly  then  did  the  masked  man  sheathe 
his  own  sword,  and,  stooping,  pick  up 
Damory's  weapon  of  great  price. 

"  It  has  a  most  elegant  hilt,"  quoth  he, 
holding  it  horizontally  in  both  hands,  "  but 
fie  upon  it  for  a  useless  blade !  " 

Whereupon,  with  fingers  of  incredible 
strength,  on  a  sudden  movement  of  anger, 
he  broke  the  said  blade  twice  across  his  knee 
and  flung  the  pieces  contemptuously  towards 
their  owner;  then  handed  him  the  hilt  with 
an  even  greater  air  of  contempt.  And  be- 
fore the  bewildered  fop  could  gather  his 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


scattered  wits  sufficiently  to  realise  what  was 
taking  place,  the  coach  door  was  clapped  to. 

"Madam,"  said  the  stranger,  "you  may 
now  proceed.  Up  with  you,  John.  Drive 
on,  George!  Basil,  my  horse  here !  " 

"Philip!"  cried  Nan,  putting  her  face  to 
the  window,  even  as  the  coach  began  to 
roll. 

But  it  is  the  etiquette  of  masks  to  deny 
their  identity.  And  Philip  Day  answered 
her  not  by  one  word,  but  mounted  and  fol- 
lowed the  equipage. 

Lord  Damory  raised  a  dismal  howl  when 
it  dawned  upon  him  that  coach  and  horse- 
man were  deliberately  abandoning  him  on 
the  waste  lands  of  Fulham,  in  the  awful  hour 
before  dawn,  with  three  footpads,  dead  or 
wounded,  for  sole  company!  Clutching  his 
valuable  hilt,  he  set  off  running  after  the 
retreating  wheels. 

How  he  presently  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
escaped  party  of  the  band ;  how  he  lost  not 
only  snuff-box,  watches,  and  brooches,  but 
also  his  fine  suit  of  clothes,  his  silk  stock- 
ings and  garters ;  and  how,  thereafter,  find- 
ing that  his  very  appearance  at  the  clubs  and 
[  172  ] 


gg  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

about  Town  excited  inextinguishable  laugh- 
ter, he  took  a  trip  to  the  Continent,  may  be 
related  by  any  who  care  to  write  "  The 
Fop's  Progress." 

Nan,  in  her  coach,  saw  with  mixed  feelings 
London  spring  up  beside  her  on  each  side 
in  the  grey  dawn.  She  was  longing  for  the 
moment  when  her  new  escort  should  dis- 
mount at  the  Kilcroneys'  door,  and,  perforce, 
listen  to  her  at  last;  and  yet  she  dreaded 
that  moment.  It  was  perhaps  the  keenest 
humiliation  of  her  life  that  she  had  suffered 
this  evening.  There  had  at  least  been  the 
dignity  of  danger  in  her  choice  of  Lord  San- 
quhar  as  a  beau.  But  to  aim  secretly  at 
exciting  a  husband's  jealousy  and  to  have 
selected  so  pitiable  a  rival  that  she  became 
herself  an  object  of  derision  —  could  Fortune 
have  provided  a  more  cruel  turn  of  the 
wheel  ? 

Tears  fell  one  by  one,  while,  mechanically, 
she  began  to  collect  the  scattered  pearls  of 
her  celebrated  necklace.  Little  as  she  cared 
for  them  this  moment,  they  were  his  pearls, 
after  all ! 

[  173] 


181  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  J8* 

She  had  made  a  bag  of  her  handkerchief, 
and  it  was  full  of  the  precious  beads  when 
the  coach  reached  Mayfair  and  clattered 
down  Hertford  Street.  And  so  she  could 
not  even  dry  her  cheeks !  Perhaps  she  was 
counting  upon  the  effect  of  that  tear-stained 
countenance.  But,  if  so,  when  she  alighted 
at  the  door-steps,  her  disappointment  must 
have  been  the  greater,  for  now  no  escort  was 
there. 

Pausing  in  incredulous  dismay  upon  the 
pavement,  she  looked  up  the  street.  Then, 
at  the  top  of  it,  clear  against  the  Park  trees 
that  rose  greenly  in  the  early  morning  light, 
she  beheld  the  silhouette  of  two  horsemen. 
And  as  she  looked,  one  of  them  raised  his 
hat,  swung  it  out  with  a  fine  French  salute, 
and  was  gone.  Cruel,  cruel !  It  was  the 
third  time  she  had  been  thus  treated. 


[174] 


•H- 


CHAPTER   XIII 


D 


ENIS  O'HARA,  Viscount 
Kilcroney,  was  cursed  (or 
blessed)  with  a  soft  heart; 
and  it  irked  that  soft  heart 
of  his  to  know  that  any  crea- 
ture under  his  roof  should 
suffer.  When  that  creature 
happened  to  be  of  the  oppo- 
site sex  —  and  so  dainty  a 
piece  to  boot  as  Lady  Anne 
Day  —  the  said  soft-hearted 
Irishman  began  to  bestow 
more  attention  upon  the 
case  than  his  own  lady  alto- 
gether liked. 

"  Those  eyes  of  hers  are 
fairly  eating   up   her   little 

face,"  quoth  he,  all  unconscious,  to  Kitty,  as 

he   surveyed   the   object  of    his  compassion 

with  regretful  tenderness. 

Nan's    sensitive    blush    mounted    on    the 

instant.      She    glanced    gratefully    at    Kil- 
[177] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


croney,  whose  invariable  courtesy  and  kind- 
ness had  won  in  her  an  honest  affection. 

"I  warned  Lady  Anne"  —  elaborate  cere- 
mony between  these  two,  now  bosom  ene- 
mies, had  become  the  rule  —  "  that  this  Town 
life  was  nowise  becoming  to  her.  Pity  she 
could  not  suit  herself  to  the  country,  since 
the  country  suited  her  so  much  better." 

The  glance  of  Lady  Kilcroney's  pansy- 
brown  orbs  sharpened  the  already  fine  point 
of  her  words.  The  three  were  assembled  in 
Kitty's  white  room  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
guests  for  a  small  friendly  party.  The  first 
arrival  being  hereupon  announced,  Kitty 
rose  with  a  great  rustle  of  pink  and  silver 
brocade ;  and,  passing  her  lord  with  a  move- 
ment of  her  pretty  head  which  might  well 
have  made  him  ponder,  she  hastened  to  her 
duties. 

Lord  Kilcroney,  who  took  the  world  easy 
both  at  home  and  in  company,  made,  how- 
ever, no  attempt  to  follow  her,  but  lounged 
across  the  sofa  more  closely  to  his  fair  guest. 
Nan  likewise  moved  not.  Perhaps  she  was 
not  averse  to  paying  Kitty  back  upon  her 
one  vulnerable  point  for  a  thousand  artful 


THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


stabs.  She  raised  her  eyes,  therefore,  in 
mute  pathos. 

**  Why,  now,"  argued  Kilcroney,  "  what  is 
the  good  of  going  on  like  this  at  all  ?  Sure, 
it 's  breaking  your  heart  you  are,  as  any  one 
could  see  in  half  a  wink." 

"  Nobody  cares,"  said  Nan,  the  corners  of 
her  mouth  going  down,  "  whether  I  have  a 
heart  to  break  or  not." 

"  Ah,  God  help  us!  Sure,  me  poor  child, 
there  's  another  is  saying  the  self-same  thing 
of  you  this  minute.  I  declare  it 's  the  regu- 
lar pair  you  are  !  And  what  beats  me  is  that 
the  pair  of  you  will  go  and  keep  single  on 
each  other  when  it 's  dying  you  are,  both  of 
you,  to  be  one." 

"  Oh,  if  you  refer  to  my  husband,"  said 
Nan,  beginning  industriously  to  pleat  a 
corner  of  her  gown,  "  so  long  as  he  's  got  his 
bullocks  and  his  wheatfields  and  his  turnips 
to  keep  him  company,  he  cares  little  for  the 
society  of  his  wife." 

"  Bullocks  —  nay,    now,   faith,    I  vow    I  '11 

speak  plain  at  last  —  though    it's  loth   I'd 

be  to  lose  your  pretty  presence  out  of  the 

house  "  —  here  Kilcroney  looked  tender  (how, 

[  179] 


IS  THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  $g 

indeed,  could  he  regard  a  dear  little  woman 
otherwise  than  with  tenderness  ?)  —  "  't  is 
high  time,  my  dear,  that  you  should  be  after 
your  Squire.  Bullocks  and  turnips!  Why, 
't  is  dice,  and  —  " 

He  stopped  abruptly.  His  eyes  went 
round  as  those  of  a  man  who  sees  before 
him  the  enormity  he  has  just  escaped  saying. 

"And  —  and  what?"  cried  Nan,  rearing 
her  figure  into  stiffness,  her  chin  aloft,  her 
eyes  aflame. 

"Why,  why — nothing  at  all,  the  merest 
trifle.  There 's  a  power  of  gossip.  But  you 
need  n't  be  jealous  of  the  bullocks !  And 
sure,  that  ought  to  be  a  comfort,  at  any 
rate." 

His  glance  twinkled,  but  his  tone  was 
caressing.  He  was  bending  to  watch  the 
effect  of  his  words.  It  was  not  a  disagree- 
able spectacle  —  this  small  face  quivering 
with  pride  and  pain,  the  white  teeth  biting  a 
tell-tale  lip,  the  tears  ever  rising  to  the  lus- 
trous blue  eyes  and  ever  resolutely  driven 
back.  Lady  Kilcroney,  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  had  an  unwontedly  loud  laugh  this 
evening,  a  new  strident  ring  in  her  voice. 
[  180  ] 


&  THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

"  Look  you,  now "  went  on  Kilcroney, 
"  God  knows  it 's  none  of  my  business,  but 
that  husband  of  yours  is  a  fine  fellow.  If 
you  '11  take  my  advice,  my  dear,  you  '11  go 
back  to  him.  There  might  come  a  time, 
you  see,  when  you  'd  find  he  'd  been  waiting 
—  well,  just  a  troifle  too  long  for  you.  Is 
it  the  humble-pie  you  can't  make  up  your 
mind  to  ?  God  bless  us,  Nan  !  "  The  good- 
natured  nobleman  here  took  her  hand  (for 
the  life  of  him  he  could  not  have  helped 
pressing  it  —  not  a  firm,  dimpled,  plump 
thing  like  his  Kitty's,  but  a  mere  wisp  of 
delicate  whiteness).  "  Why  now,  if  you  could 
but  swallow  your  pride,  you  'd  find  that  same 
humble-pie  go  down  after  it  quite  easy. 
Could  n't  you  write  him  a  bit  of  a  note,  eh, 
Lady  Anne?  " 

The  tears  brimmed  over  Nan's  eyelashes. 
She  shook  her  head,  for  she  could  not 
speak. 

"  Ah,  now,  if  he  could  see  you  this  minute. 
Sure  it  would  be  the  black  heart  that  could 
keep  from  catching  those  tears  on  his  lips  !  " 

The  room  was  full  of  buzzing  talk :  per- 
haps Lord  Kilcroney  had  raised  his  tones 
[181] 


SB  THE    HEART   OF    LADY   ANNE    g| 

louder  than  he  was  aware  of.  An  incisive 
voice  suddenly  parted  the  air  over  their 
heads.  Nan  started  violently  and  drew  her 
hand  sharply  from  the  grasp  that  would  yet 
have  retained  it.  She  turned,  to  behold,  with 
consternation,  Kitty  Kilcroney  herself,  stand- 
ing in  close  proximity,  and  Sir  James  Devlin 
by  her  side.  Kitty  was  fanning  herself.  Her 
attention  as  well  as  her  words  seemed  en- 
tirely devoted  to  her  companion. 

Nan,  with  a  gradual  subsidence  of  her  first 
scarlet  flurry,  began  to  listen  and  understand. 
Kilcroney  got  up  lazily;  and  smiling,  tried 
to  catch  his  wife's  glance ;  failing  which,  he 
sauntered  away  towards  the  card-table. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Kitty  was  saying,  "  the  heat 
is  monstrous,  Sir  James;  I  marvel  how  you 
always  look  so  cool." 

"  Why,"  said  Sir  James,  and  that  light-blue 
eye,  beneath  which  Nan  never  could  feel 
comfortable,  fixed  itself  slowly  upon  her, 
"  't  is  but  a  little  secret  of  mine,  a  mere  mat- 
ter of  expediency.  'T  is  the  hot  spells  that 
make  life  agreeable ;  and  to  enjoy  them  a 
man  must  remain  cool." 

"  Ah,  I  am  not  of  your  opinion,"  retorted 


g$  THE   HEART   OF    LADY   ANNE  & 

Kitty  drily.  She  never  glanced  in  the  direc- 
tion of  husband  or  guest.  "  In  fact,  this  June 
scorching  has  quite  prostrated  me,  and  my 
Lord  vows  he  will  carry  me  away  to  his 
Ireland  before  the  week  is  out" 

"  Surely  a  sudden  decision,"  commented 
Devlin,  upon  a  stifled  yawn. 

"  Nay,"  returned  his  hostess  sharply. 
"Town  has  been  intolerable  to  me,  to  us 
both,  these  three  horrible  weeks ! " 

Three  weeks  was  the  measure  of  Lady 
Anne's  residence  at  the  Kilcroney  mansion. 

Nan  rose  and  shook  out  her  skirts  with 
great  deliberation.  She  marched  with  very 
stately  air  across  the  room,  seeking  her  host- 
ess, upon  the  spur  of  her  outraged  pride ; 
she  almost  walked  into  the  arms  of  Sir  James 
Devlin. 

"  Can  I  offer  your  Ladyship  my  arm?  " 

She  took  it  mechanically.  She  had  no 
thought  for  the  fascination  of  his  snake- 
like  glance,  now,  upon  this  tempest-wave  of 
feeling. 

"  Are  you  likewise  feeling  the  heat  ?  "  came 
the   suave,    unemotional    voice    in    her   ear. 
"  You  look  singularly  pale." 
[183] 


8  THE    HEART    OF    LADY    ANNE  & 

"  Nay,"  said  Nan,  very  loudly,  with  a  harsh 
laugh,  "  'tis  but  this  odious  Town  existence. 
I  go  to  the  country  immediately." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Sir  James.  His  eyebrows 
were  uplifted.  He  made  her  a  bow,  osten- 
sibly of  acquiescence.  It  was  one,  neverthe- 
less, of  incredulity. 

"  May  I  ask  your  Ladyship  how  long  your 
Ladyship  expects  the  Lady  Anne  Day  to 
remain  in  your  Ladyship's  house?" 

Thus  Miss  Lydia,  Kitty  Kilcroney's  tire- 
woman, who  had  been  long  enough  in  her 
present  service  to  consider  herself  entitled  to 
a  confidential  share  in  family  councils.  She 
spoke  with  a  jerk  of  her  head  and  a  flash  of 
an  exceedingly  lively  eye. 

But  to-night  her  mistress  was  in  no  hu- 
mour to  condone  liberties,  and  met  her 
woman's  remark  with  an  equal  acerbity  of 
temper  and  a  scanning,  contemptuous  glance 
that  was  meant  to  put  her  back  in  her  place. 

"  And,  if  I  may  venture  to  ask,  what  busi- 
ness is  that  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Only  this,  my  Lady,"  quoth  Lydia,  nip- 
ping her  words,  "  that,  unless  your  Lady- 
[184] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


ship's  guests  soon  depart,  I  shall  have  to 
crave  my  discharge  from  your  Ladyship's 
establishment." 

Even  in  anger,  it  was  astonishing  with  what 
precision  she  who  had  for  so  many  years  ad- 
dressed her  mistress  as  simple  "  Ma'am  "  now 
sent  the  Ladyships  tripping  from  her  tongue. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Kilcroney's  Viscount- 
ess, sitting  down  to  her  mirror  and  negli- 
gently examining  her  left  eyebrow ;  "  why 
did  you  not  speak  it  before  ?  Pray,  is  there 
aught  else  in  my  arrangements  that  fails  to 
meet  your  approval  ?  You  need,  of  course, 
but  mention  it  —  what  do  I  say?  —  the 
merest  hint !  " 

Tantrums  Lydia  could  endure  —  even 
welcome  as  an  opportunity ;  but  to  that  high 
spirit  sarcasm  was  unbearable.  Her  thin 
throat  became  convulsed.  She  knew  it  was 
not  for  a  humble  servant  to  speak.  She 
hoped  she  knew  her  place.  No  one  (she 
trusted)  could  accuse  her  of  presuming.  If 
every  Lady's  woman  were  as  discreet  as  she, 
Lydia  — 

Lady  Kilcroney's  gaze,  in  the  glass,  became 
fixed  and  steely.  Lydia,  meeting  it  over  her 


^  THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  g 

mistress's  shoulder,  stopped  abruptly  with  a 
gulp  expressive  of  tears.  Lydia's  tears  did 
not,  however,  rise  easily,  and  a  deal  of  pre- 
liminary pumping  was  required. 

"  Proceed,"  said  Lady  Kilcroney  with  icy 
calm.  "  You  were  commenting,  I  believe, 
upon  your  discretion." 

Lydia  buried  her  dry  cheek  in  her  apron. 
Again  from  behind  its  folds  she  appealed  to 
Heaven.  If  ever  there  was  any  one  who  had 
her  mistress's  interests  at  heart,  was  it  not 
she?  Only  that  she  had  been  so  much  afraid 
to  vex  her  Ladyship,  she  would  have  spoken 
before,  as  her  conscience  bade  her.  But 
knowing  how  fond  her  Ladyship  was  of  the 
Lady  Anne  Day —  Here  a  corner  of  mus- 
lin was  shifted,  and  the  alert  eye,  still  un- 
moistened,  was  fixed  with  gimlet  shrewdness 
on  Kitty's  reflection. 

The  sudden  dilation  of  the  nostrils,  the 
twitch  of  the  lip,  the  spark  in  the  pansy- 
brown  glance  that  the  mirror  betrayed, 
seemed  to  satisfy  the  Abigail,  for  she  dropped 
the  apron,  smoothed  it  with  her  hands,  ceased 
her  unsuccessful  gulping,  and,  allowing  her 
throat  to  resume  its  normal  appearance : 
[186] 


THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE 


"  It 's  high  time  your  Ladyship  should 
know,  and  it  's  high  time  your  Ladyship 
should  act,"  she  remarked  firmly. 

Lady  Kilcroney  wheeled  round.  Never 
indeed,  had  mistress  and  woman  been  better 
agreed  on  any  point.  And  it  was  charming 
to  see  how  little  this  accidental  skirmish  af- 
fected their  fundamental  harmony. 

"  I  know  a  good  deal  too  much  already," 
she  asserted. 

"  There 's  a  saying,"  pursued  the  other, 
"  like  Mistress  like  maid  —  " 

"  Nay,"  interrupted  Lady  Kilcroney.  "  It  is 
to  be  hoped  there  are  exceptions,  my  good  girl." 

"  Why,  my  Lady,"  responded  the  maid, 
with  the  most  engaging  guilelessness,  "  I 
hope,  I  trust  so  too." 

The  pair  surveyed  each  other  for  a  while 
dubiously,  but  mutely  agreed  to  dismiss  the 
consideration  —  other  matters,  for  the  nonce, 
being  more  pressing. 

"  Do  you  refer  to  my  guest,  or  to  my 
guest's  woman  ?  "  inquired  the  lady. 

"  Ho !  my  Lady,  I  refer  to  both.  Of  all 
the  artful,  odious,  sly,  designing  French 
minxes  I  ever  saw  — " 


THE    HEART    OF   LADY   ANNE 


"  Mistress  or  maid,  girl  ?  " 

"  Both,  my  Lady,  both !  If  that  serpent 
had  n't  the  face  to  tell  me  to-night  that  her 
lady  was  twice  as  much  admired  as  yourself !  " 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Kitty,  turning  petulantly 
back  to  her  mirror. 

She  feigned  a  vast  scorn,  but  this  was 
atrocious  hearing  nevertheless. 

"Ho,  my  Lady!" — Lydia  became  once 
more  of  a  sudden  extremely  agitated,  and 
was  constrained  to  control  the  fluttering  in 
her  virginal  heart  by  the  pressure  of  one 
bony  little  hand  —  "I've  seen  it  going  on 
these  weeks.  What  I  've  had  to  bear,  your 
Ladyship  can  have  no  conception.  And  me 
knowing  what  the  deceitful  pair  was  up  to ! 
People  that  is  not  content  with  their  own 
husbands,  but  has  eyes  on  —  on  other  people's 
belongings — " 

"  Really,  my  good  girl,"  exclaimed  Kitty, 
taking  up  her  fan  and  agitating  it  with  some 
energy,  "  you  're  positively  wandering!  What 
piece  of  goods  of  yours  has  that  black  wench 
of  Lady  Anne's  been  ogling?  For  to  be 
brief,  this  is  the  root  of  the  matter,  I  take 
it." 

[188] 


gg  THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

Here  Lydia  was  shaken  with  a  laugh  of 
exceeding  bitterness. 

"  Ho,  your  Ladyship,  that  wench  (as  your 
Ladyship  rightly  calls  her),  she  may  ogle, 
she  may  roll  those  black  beads  of  eyes  till 
they  drop  out  of  her  head,  but  she  '11  never 
succeed  in  captivating  Mr.  Benson !  Mr. 
Benson,  as  your  Ladyship  knows,  is  anxious 
to  obtain  my  promise,  if  ever  I  could  make  up 
my  mind  to  think  of  a  butler.  I  've  been 
quite  amused,  your  Ladyship;  but  when  it 
comes  to  lift  her  venomed  tongue  against 
your  La'ship's  own  self — " 

"  Oh,  then,  of  course  your  devoted  soul 
was  aflame ! " 

Kitty  smiled  as  she  spoke;  but  her  smile 
expressed  hardly  more  mirth  than  Lydia's 
laughter. 

"  *  How  dare  you ! '  says  I.  '  Ho  ! '  says  I. 
1  That 's  news  !  Admired  ?  That  whey- 
faced  thing  ! '  '  Whey-faced,'  she  says,  *  you 
English  stupid,  you  know  not  what  is  ele- 
gant, what  is  refined.  My  mistress,'  she  had 
the  impudence  to  say,  '  is  a  rosebud,  —  rose- 
bud, you  comprehend  ? '  That 's  the  igno- 
rant talk  of  her,  my  Lady.  4  Your  mistress  is 


£$  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

full-blown  —  full-blown  —  like  that ! '  And 
she  waves  her  black  hands,  your  Ladyship, 
this  way." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Kitty  sharply,  "  't  is 
a  pretty  state  of  things  that  you  should  thus 
be  discussing  your  mistresses  in  the  servants' 
hall.  I  marvel  Mrs.  Pomfret  keeps  no  bet- 
ter discipline  among  you." 

"  Discipline,  your  Ladyship  ?  "  cried  Lydia. 
"  Why,  if  one  was  to  scratch  out  her  eyes, 
one  could  not  keep  discipline  with  that  Toi- 
nette.  Oh,  I  spoke  up  to  her,  your  Ladyship. 
When  you  Ve  done  tormenting  Mr.  Benson,' 
I  said,  '  who  does  not  want  any  of  your  at- 
tentions, I  '11  be  obleeged  by  your  listening 
to  me !  I  scorn  your  French  insinuations 
about  buds  and  full-blown  roses,'  I  said  to 
her.  '  If  I  know  anything  of  gentlemen,  and 
I  think  I  know  something  of  their  ways ' 
—  the  Abigail  here  looked  complacently  at 
her  mistress  —  "  '  there  's  not  one  that  comes 
to  this  house  who  would  n't  prefer  the  rose 
to  the  wilted  bud.'  '  But,  mayhap,'  she  an- 
swers, the  bold  thing,  leaning  right  up  against 
Mr.  Benson  as  she  spoke,  in  her  impudent 
French  way,  '  there  's  a  gentleman  in  this 
[  190] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


house  who  thinks  as  I  do  !  Has  Mr.  Benson  ' 
—  she  goes  on  rolling  her  eyes  up  at  him  — 
'  his  master's  confidence  ? ' ' 

Lady  Kilcroney  sat  transfixed.  The  colour 
flamed  into  her  face  and  then  subsided.  She 
looked  at  her  own  dainty  reflection  and  shook 
her  head.  Then  she  feigned  a  yawn  behind 
her  hand. 

"  I  trust  you  assured  the  Frenchwoman 
that  in  my  house  neither  man  nor  maid  med- 
dles with  their  master's  concerns." 

"  Well,  my  Lady,  I  'm  sure  I  did  my  best  — 
I  smacked  her  face  !  "cried  Lydia  vengefully. 
"  And  it 's  just  come  to  this  between  that 
French  minx  and  myself  —  that  your  Lady- 
ship's house  can't  hold  us  both." 

"  My  Ladyship's  house,"  said  Lady  Kil- 
croney, with  a  slow  smile,  "  has  no  intention 
of  holding  you  both.  It  is  his  Lordship's 
wish  to  proceed  to  Ireland  without  delay." 

"  Indeed,  my  Lady,"  ejaculated  Lydia  ;  but 
it  would  seem  as  if  this  assurance,  instead  of 
being  consolatory  to  the  damsel,  was  fraught 
with  some  consternation.  Astute  as  she  was, 
she  could  not  keep  her  jaw  from  dropping. 

"  By  way  of    Bath,   Lydia,"   pursued  her 


gg  THE   HEART    OF   LADY   ANNE  gg 

mistress,  watching  her  in  the  glass.  "  By 
way  of  Bath." 

Lydia's  countenance  cleared  as  by  magic. 
She  regarded  her  mistress  with  an  expression 
of  admiring  wonder  not  often  evoked  in  her. 

"  You  may  begin  to  pack  to-morrow  morn- 
ing," said  Kitty  carelessly. 

If  my  Lord  Kilcroney  was  gaily  uncon- 
scious of  offence  when  next  he  sought  his 
wife's  company,  nobody  could  seem  less  con- 
scious of  injury  than  my  Lady  Kilcroney 
herself.  Rarely,  indeed,  had  she  smiled  on 
him  with  a  greater  sweetness.  If  she  and 
Lydia  did  not  know  the  ways  of  gentlemen, 
who  should?  It  did  not  take  her  long  to 
convince  him  that  the  desire  to  see  Old  Ire- 
land once  more  was  entirely  his  own.  And 
as  for  the  halt  in  Bath,  why,  Kitty  had  had  a 
twinge  —  positively  a  twinge !  If  .she  were 
constrained  to  pause  for  a  second  and  con- 
sider the  most  poetic  part  of  her  anatomy  in 
which  to  locate  this  twinge,  it  was  with  the 
most  convincing  air  in  all  the  world  that  she 
finally  extended  the  small  taper  finger  of  her 
left  hand  for  his  sympathetic  inspection. 
[  IQ2  ] 


THE    HEART  OF    LADY  ANNE 


He  had  not  a  thought  to  spare  for  French 
Nan's  blue  eyes  as  he  kissed  that  delicate 
suffering  digit. 

At  his  bachelor  lodgings  in  Sheppard's 
Market,  Philip  Day  received  (forwarded  in 
due  course  from  Queen's  Compton)  the  letter 
which  Lady  Anne  had  penned  on  the  very 
night  of  Lady  Kilcroney's  party. 

The  uncontrollable  anger  evoked  by  the 
situation  was  not  without  its  effect  upon  the 
tone  of  the  epistle.  And  yet  it  rang  piteously 
enough : 

This  house  is  no  place  for  me  any  longer.  I 
have  been  treated  with  gross  insult  by  Lady  Kil- 
croney.  Where  shall  I  goe?  I  will  do  what  you 
wish  me.  You  are  the  master,  and  have  but  to 
command.  You  are  awear  that  my  mother's  house 
is  closed  to  me,  or  I  would  not  trouble  you  (in 
the  midst  of  your  many  interests  and  amuse- 
ments) with  a  recollection  of  my  troublesome  ex- 
istence. I  understand  you  are  in  Town.  But,  not 
being  favoured  with  your  address,  I  am  obleeged 
to  send  this  to  Queen's  Compton.  May  I  beg  for 
a  prompt  answer?  — Your  obedient  wife, 

ANNE  DAY. 

The  blood  leaped   hotly  to  Philip  Day's 
face  as  he  read.     The  piteousness  of  the  wil- 
13  [  193  ] 


^  THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE  gg 

ful  creature's  letter,  the  jealous  cry  of  her 
wifely  pride,  escaped  him.  The  defiance 
which  dubbed  him  "  master,"  and  promised 
"obedience"  almost  as  a  threat,  struck  him 
almost  as  if  she  had  flung  her  little  glove  at 
him.  Not  thus,  no,  not  thus  would  he  have 
her  back.  Better  separation  for  ever  than 
the  old  tugging  against  the  bondage  of  his 
love  as  if  at  a  chain. 

Nan  had  believed,  indeed,  that  he  now  had 
no  alternative  but  to  receive  her  on  her  own 
terms.  But  his  answer  soon  undeceived 
her:  — 

MY  DEAR  ANNE,  —  I  thought  I  had  made  clear 
to  you  that  the  last  of  my  wishes  is  to  act  as  mas- 
ter —  or  jailer  —  towards  yourself.  Be  comforted 
—  the  prison  of  Queen's  Compton  [these  words 
were  underlined]  does  not  await  you  in  the  middle 
of  your  Town  pleasures  by  which  you  set  such 
store.  I  regret  that  untoward  circumstances  should 
oblige  you  to  quit  Lady  Kilcroney's  house ;  but 
I  trust  you  will  be  satisfied  with  the  arrangements 
which  I  have  now  concluded  for  your  comfort. 

I  have  hired,  for  the  remainder  of  the  season,  a 
small  yet  elegant  residence  in  Spring  Gardens, 
overlooking  St.  James's  Park ;  and  I  have  ob- 
tained your  father's  permission  that  Lady  Teresa, 

[  194] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


your  eldest  step-sister,  shall  hold  you  company  so 
long  as  it  please  you  to  remain  in  London.  She, 
I  understand,  views  the  prospect  favourably,  and 
has  reached  an  age  of  sufficient  discretion  to  make 
me  and  Lord  Ongar  regard  her  as  an  eminently 
suitable  companion  in  the  circumstances.  Your 
equipage  may  remain  in  the  same  stables  as  be- 
fore, and  you  can  enter  your  new  abode  as  soon  as 
you  please.  — Your  affectionate  husband, 

PHILIP  DAY. 

"  'T  is  well  —  't  is  vastly  well ;  but  if  Teresa 
thinks,"  cried  Nan,  in  the  solitude  of  her 
chamber,  at  the  end  of  the  violent  storm 
into  which  this  extraordinary  document  had 
thrown  her  —  "if  Teresa  thinks  I'm  going 
to  whirl  her  into  a  vortex  of  Town  amuse- 
ments she  's  mightily  mistaken  !  By  all  I 
hold  sacred,  I  '11  make  it  as  dull  for  her  as 
ever  she  found  it  at  home  !  " 


[195] 


C  H  A   P  T  t 


\  I  V 


•H- 


CHAPTER   XIV 


ND  she  kept  her  word.  She, 
who  in  Hertford 
Street  had  been 
feverishly  anxious  for 
the  smallest  social 
flutter,  lived  in 
Spring  Gardens  the 
life  of  a  nun. 

Her  door  was 
denied  to  all  visitors 
except  her  immediate 
family.  She  refused 
every  invitation ;  she 
shunned  the  fashion- 
able hour  in  Mall  or 

__^     Park. 

Poor  Lady  Teresa, 

who  had  accepted  the  responsibility  of  guar- 
dian to  her  volatile  step-sister  with  very  dif- 
ferent anticipations, grew  sourer  day  by  day; 
justly  incensed  that  the  frivolity  she  had  in- 
[  A99] 


THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


tended  to  rebuke  (and  to  share)  should  have 
so  unaccountably  vanished. 

Yet  the  Squire's  wife  scarcely  seemed  to 
profit  of  this  period  of  quietude.  A  fever 
burned  in  her  pretty  cheek  and  in  her  over 
bright  eye.  To  toss  the  night  through  in 
futile  wakeful  passion  or  to  speed  it  amid 
the  chatter  of  crowded  rooms,  the  excite- 
ment of  the  gaming-table,  the  swaying  lan- 
guors of  the  minuet  —  't  is  a  question,  indeed 
whether  the  solitary  alternative  be  not  the 
more  wasting. 

The  echoes  of  that  little  Great  World  in 
which  she  had  plunged  herself  came  now  but 
faintly  to  her  ears.  And  yet,  though  her 
pride  would  not  permit  her  to  avow  it,  those 
ears  were  ever  on  the  strain  for  the  sound  of 
one  name. 

But  Nan,  the  pretty  exile  to  France,  had 
had  little  opportunities  of  making  friends  in 
England.  The  single  close  friendship  of  her 
youth,  her  friendship  with  Kitty  Kilcroney, 
had  not  borne  the  strain  of  a  petty  rivalry. 
And  petulant,  preoccupied  Anne  Day  was 
not  like  to  have  formed  fresh  ties.  An  isola- 
tion, strange  in  the  midst  of  the  busy  hum, 
[  200  ] 


$g  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

settled  round  the  luxurious  small  house  in 
Spring  Gardens. 

Once  Sir  James  Devlin  called.  He  might 
have  been  observed  to  smile  as  he  ran  down 
the  steps  after  the  porter's  denial :  he  was 
one  whom  a  check  stimulated  ;  he  was  of  the 
race  that  never  fear  to  wait. 

Mollified,  perhaps,  by  her  daughter's  unex- 
pected display  of  prudence,  Lady  Ongar  re- 
laxed in  severity  so  far  as  to  visit  her.  She 
had  fully  intended,  excellent  well-meaning 
lady,  to  end  the  preliminary  lecture  —  les  re- 
proches  cC  obligation  —  by  maternal  forgive- 
ness. But  Nan  was  in  no  mood  to  bear 
reprimand  of  any  kind.  The  encounter 
ended,  much  as  had  the  meeting  with  Lady 
Kilcroney,  in  the  elder  dame's  complete  rout. 
Sighing  profoundly,  Lady  Ongar  was  hoisted 
by  her  stalwart  footman  into  her  barouche, 
and  drove  away  with  the  dismal  conviction 
that,  instead  of  drawing  the  disunited  couple 
closer  together,  she  had  but  erected  a  new 
barrier  between  them. 

One  July  day — Nan's  terrible  London 
season  now  reckoned  some  two  months  —  so 
hot  that  the  narrow  house,  with  every  win- 
[  201  ] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


dow  open,  seemed  to  pant  for  breath  in  the 
heavy  stagnant  air,  Lady  Sukey  entered  upon 
pale  Nan  like  a  whirlwind.  She  wanted,  it 
appeared,  a  chaperon  for  Strawberry  Hill. 
Lady  Ongar  had  the  megrims.  Nan  must 
instantly  into  her  best  gown  and  order  round 
the  greys.  But  Nan  looked  up  from  the 
languid  needleful  of  silk  she  was  passing 
through  her  embroidery :  "  I  cannot  take  you, 
child.  Et,  du  reste,  I  have  refused." 

"What  matter!  That's  just  like  your 
French  nonsense.  If  you  think  yourself 
of  such  consequence,  or  that  any  one 
will  notice!  —  Bustle,  there's  my  good 
Nan  !  " 

Lady  Teresa  put  down  the  sixth  volume 
of  "  Clarissa,"  and  bestowed  an  acid  attention 
upon  the  scene.  Did  Sukey  really  think 
she  'd  get  that  sullen  piece  to  oblige  any 
one  ?  She  herself  had  had  an  unsuccessful 
skirmish  over  the  refusal  of  the  very  invita- 
tion in  question.  But  Lady  Teresa,  in  spite 
of  the  insulting  dulness  of  her  step-sister's 
establishment,  found  herself  there  so  prodig- 
iously more  comfortable  than  at  home  that  it 
was  not  her  game  to  quarrel  outright. 

[   202   ] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


No  such  consideration,  however,  restrained 
the  irrepressible  Sukey.  When  the  expres- 
sion of  her  peremptory  desire,  when  an  out- 
burst of  sisterly  caresses  failed,  her  rage 
broke  forth. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  you  '11  bring  back 
your  Philip  by  going  on  like  this !  I  can 
inform  you,  my  dear,  that  he  's  long  past 
caring  about  what  you  may  do." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Nan,  smiling  scornfully 
against  the  sudden  stiff  pallor  that  over- 
spread her  countenance. 

"  You  'd  have  done  better  to  keep  him  in 
the  country,  my  love." 

"  If  ever  you  get  a  husband  of  your  own, 
my  poor  Sukey,  doubtless  you  will  know  how 
to  manage  him." 

"  I  shall  at  least  Icnow  what  to  avoid,"  cried 
Sukey ;  "  and  I  hope  and  trust  I  'd  show  more 
spirit,  and  not  let  the  whole  world  know  I 
was  breaking  my  heart  for  a  creature  who 
cared  not  a  cress  about  me." 

"  Sukey,"  said  Lady  Teresa  casually,  tak- 
ing up  her  book  again,  "  you  let  your  tongue 
run  away  with  you." 

"  Tessy  —  you  're  a  fool !  'T  is  time  she 
[  203] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


should  know.  Why,  't  is  the  talk  of  the 
Town." 

"  Oh,  never  think  I  mind  her,  Teresa," 
quoth  Nan,  beginning  to  tremble;  "I  have 
perfect  confidence  in  my  husband." 

There  was  a  pause,  in  which  the  Ladies 
Susan  and  Teresa  exchanged  a  glance  — 
a  glance  which,  as  she  intercepted  it,  cut  the 
Lady  Anne  to  the  very  heart.  Then  Sukey, 
with  all  the  cruelty  of  her  years,  turned  with 
gusto  to  tell  her  brilliant  French  sister  the 
full  extent  of  her  misfortune. 

It  had  taken  the  contemned  country  Squire, 
it  seemed,  but  a  few  weeks  to  become  the 
buck  most  a  la  mode  upon  the  Town.  Lady 

S had  sworn  that  he  was  the  only  man 

handsome  enough  to  match  her  in  the  min- 
uet. (It  was  rumoured  that  her  Ladyship's 
appreciation  did  not  end  there  ;  but  then  this 
might  not  be  true,  as  it  was  asserted  —  on 
the  best  authority  —  that  the  beauteous  Lady 

C C had    the  pas   of   her   with   a 

liaison  en  regie.} 

"  They  were  noted,  my  love,  only  last  week, 
in  spite  of  all  precautions,  in  a  private  box," 
asserted  Sukey.     "  Certain  it  was,   anyhow, 
[  204] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


that,  in  more  notorious  circles,  Master  Hay- 
cock, as  the  name  goes,  my  love,  is  the  hero 
of  the  hour.  At  the  supper-parties  of  Mrs. 
Brereton  —  the  actress,  my  love — they  say 
't  is  positive  scandalous.  At  Buck's  and 
Archer's  also  't  is  all  Day  and  Devlin  —  for 
these  two  are  bosom  friends,  child.  Yes, 
your  husband  will  have  no  boon  companion 
but  Jim  the  Devil,  now —  Sir  Jim,  who  used 
to  be  dubbed,"  cried  Sukey,  tittering,  "the 
deepest  rake  in  St.  James's — till  Squire 
Day  came  to  Town  !  And  they  say  Queen's 
Compton  will  have  to  be  mortgaged  for  the 
first  time,  for  no  fortune  could  stand  the 
racket.  Oh,  la,  my  poor  sister,  't  was,  in 
truth,  a  vast  pity  you  were  not  content  to 
keep  him  in  the  country.  And  now  you 
seek  to  please  him  by  shutting  yourself  up. 
Why,  you  little  fool,  you  're  already  forgot!  " 
Sukey  paused,  flushed  and  out  of  breath; 
but  her  triumph  somewhat  fell  at  sight  of 
the  other's  countenance :  it  is  not  always  a 
happy  moment,  that  of  successful  revenge. 
Nan  looked  as  if  she  had  been  through  an 
illness.  Her  small  nostrils  were  pinched ; 
her  eyes  were  scared  and  wild.  Sukey  stared 
[  205  ] 


^  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  jg* 

at  her  sister,  mumbled  something  inarticu- 
late, and,  catching  up  her  mantle  and  hat, 
fairly  took  to  her  heels. 

Teresa  flipped  over  a  page  of  Miss  Har- 
lowe's  tearful  experiences  without  even  turn- 
ing her  head;  while  French  Nan  sat  on, 
motionless,  her  eyes  still  fixed  with  that  odd 
light  in  them,  the  needle  poised  in  her  ar- 
rested hand.  Before  her  mind  rose  visions 
that  stirred  it  well-nigh  to  madness.  The 

Lady  S ,  smiling  and  whispering  through 

the   passes   of   the   minuet.      The  beautiful 

Lady  C C and  her  Philip,  behind 

the  curtains  of  that  private  box.    Mrs.  B n 

fixing  him  with  baleful  eyes  over  sparkling 
glasses  of  pink  champagne! 

Lady  Teresa  ate  a  solitary  meal  presently, 
with  no  less  appetite,  however,  than  if  she 
were  not  aware  that  Nan  was  sobbing  her 
passionate  heart  out  in  futile  misery,  upstairs. 
(Her  philosophy  was  to  ignore  the  unpleasant 
to  the  utmost  possibility  —  who  shall  say  it 
was  not  a  wise  one  ?) 

When  something  passed  through  the  house 
like  a  little  incarnate  tempest,  and  the  back 
[  206  ] 


THE   HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE 


door  leading  to  the  Park  banged  with  a  force 
that  shook  the  house,  Lady  Teresa  was  care- 
ful not  to  raise  her  head  from  her  plate  of 
strawberries  and  cream.  For,  if  she  had 
looked  up,  she  knew  she  would  have  seen, 
through  the  bow  window,  a  wild,  desperate 
Nan  rushing  through  the  garden  into  the 
dusk  and  space  of  the  Mall.  And  it  would 
have  been  her  duty  to  hie  her  after  her  sister 
and  to  remonstrate. 

It  was  as  well,  perhaps,  that  the  step-sister 
took  her  chaperonage  so  easily  this  night, 
for  Nan,  upon  no  mad  errand  this  time,  but 
driven  by  mere  physical  torture  out  into  the 
open,  found  in  the  Mall,  in  the  falling  dark- 
ness, in  the  solitude,  some  balm  to  the  first 
intolerable  smart  of  her  pain.  It  was  as  if 
the  vast,  dim  dusk  laid  its  tranquil  hand  upon 
her  brow. 


[207] 


•H- 


CHAPTER   XV 


HE  July  night  was  falling 
in  the  gloom  of  a  coming 
storm,  its  warmth  seem- 
ing the  heavier  for  the 
unusual  darkness. 

Sir  James    Devlin,  by 
his   own  admission  cold- 
blooded, found  no  excep- 
tion to  the  state  of   the 
atmosphere.     At  such  an 
hour  as  this,  hour  of  in- 
tensity and  brooding,  he 
felt  agreeably  ripe  for  mis- 
chief;   it  might   be    that 
that  devil  in  him,  detected 
by  Lady  Kilcroney,  found 
himself  more  at  home. 
Humming  (Jim  Devlin  had  a  sweet  tune- 
ful   gift),  he  came  through   the    Mall,  from 
Brooks',  where  he  had  just  swept  a  satisfac- 
tory sum  from  the  pockets  of  his  inseparable 
companion,   Philip   Day,  making  for  White- 
[an] 


THE    HEART  OF    LADY  ANNE 


hall,  where  a  rendezvous  awaited  him  — 
Nothing  of  a  very  exciting  kind :  a  discreet 
little  meeting,  at  thought  of  which  he  smiled, 
if  with  nonchalance,  yet  agreeably. 

Suddenly  the  swinging  measure  of  his  pace 
was  broken.  His  light  eyes  could  see  better 
than  most  people's  in  the  dark,  and  they 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  woman's  figure 
motionless  beneath  a  tree.  Something  in 
the  outline,  in  the  attitude,  had  struck  him 
as  familiar. 

His  steps  hesitated,  then  fell  back  upon 
themselves.  He  came  close  to  the  solitary 
figure.  Through  the  dusk  he  perceived 
that  it  was  a  small,  slight  creature,  that 
the  face  was  quite  hidden  in  the  shadow 
of  a  wide-winged  plumed  hat.  She  stood 
motionless ;  but,  as  he  bent  towards  her,  un- 
covering, he  heard  in  the  sultry  silence  her 
panting  breath,  rhythmed  by  the  beat  of  her 
frightened  heart.  He  spoke  very  gently : 
his  voice,  when  he  chose,  could  be  as  soft  as 
a  woman's. 

"  Alone  ?  And  with  this  storm  brewing  ? 
Madam,  can  I  be  of  no  assistance  to  you  ?  " 

"  Pray,  Sir,"  answered  him  a  little  tender 
[  212  ] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


pipe,  thrilling  to  terror,  "pass  your  way  — 
there  is  none  can  assist  me." 

"  Nay ;  but  you  are  in  trouble." 

"Surely"  —  she  seemed  reassured  by  his 
respectful  manner,  and  her  voice  now  took  a 
bolder  note  — "  surely,  to  see  a  woman  in 
trouble,  Sir,  need  excite  no  wonder  on  the 
part  of  your  sex,  since  it  is  your  pastime  to 
break  our  hearts !  " 

James  Devlin  drew  back  a  step  with 
the  most  consummate  air  of  wounded 
benevolence. 

"Before  Heaven,  Madam  — !"  he  cried 
passionately.  Then  interrupted  himself  to 
continue  in  his  former  tone  of  deference:  "  It 
is  indeed  evident  that  my  intrusion  must 
seem  impertinence ;  yet  to  leave  you  here 
alone,  in  distress  of  mind,  exposed  to  dan- 
gers you  wot  not  of  —  so  young  —  " 

"  And  pray,  Sir,  how  know  you  of  my 
youth  ? " 

"  Madam,  I  feel  it.  I  want  no  further 
illumination  to  tell  me  that  you  are  young, 
beautiful,  a  lady  —  and  that  you  have  never 
stood  alone  before."  A  laugh,  faintly  flat- 
tered, escaped  from  the  lips  hidden  in  the 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


shadow  of  the  great  hat.  "  If  another  than 
myself  had  seen  you,"  pursued  Devlin,  "  if 
I  were  to  pass  my  way,  as  you  bid  me  —  " 
he  paused. 

"  Well,  Sir,  and  then  ? "  queried  she. 
Tremulousness  and  fear  had  left  her.  The 
trouble  that  weighed  upon  her  was  of  the 
kind  that  drives  a  woman  to  seek  desperate 
distraction.  Could  his  cat-like  gaze  have 
penetrated  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  tilted 
hat-brim  it  would  have  found  eyes  lit  with 
strange  fires  and  cheeks  painted  scarlet  in 
the  darkness. 

"  I  cannot  leave  you  thus,"  he  exclaimed, 
insisting,  with  a  sudden  impressive  stern- 
ness; "it  would  be  exposing  you  to  insult. 
The  Mall  at  night  is  no  safe  place  for  a 
woman  alone."  Even  as  he  spoke  a  shadow 
passed  by  them  —  that  of  a  man,  suspi- 
ciously watchful,  almost  furtive  —  and  was 
presently  lost  among  the  trees  and  the 
undergrowth  of  the  Park.  "See!"  said 
Devlin,  pointing. 

"  Mon  Dieu  /"  she  exclaimed  tauntingly. 
"  And  with  you,  Sir,  I  should  be  so  safe  ! " 

There  fell  a  little  pause  between  the  two 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY   ANNE 


comedians,  during  which  each  tried  to  meas- 
ure the  other's  thought. 

Sir  James  had  the  advantage  upon  his 
fair  companion ;  for,  while  recognising  her, 
he  also  knew  himself  recognised.  But 
Lady  Anne  believed  herself  safe  in  her 
incognito.  Here  was  an  opportunity  not 
only  for  confirmation  of  her  aroused  jeal- 
ousy, but  also,  if  necessary,  for  retaliation. 
Her  pulses  were  throbbing.  The  gathering 
forces  of  nature,  lowering  to  storm  about 
her,  were  nothing  to  the  tempests  gathered 
in  her  woman's  heart.  The  man  smiled  to 
himself. 

"  My  pretty  Nan,"  thought  he,  "  you  have 
betrayed  yourself  a  dozen  times  already. 
But,  allons  f  it  pleases  you  to  keep  up  the 
feint;  so  be  it.  It  suits  my  hand  prodig- 
ious well;  and  I'll  have  your  cards  on  the 
table  in  a  minute,  little  beauty!  Ah!  you 
think  you  can  play  me  safely  to  your  heart's 
content,  now,  with  the  lights  of  your  house 
twinkling  twenty  yards  off.  Well,  the 
bolder  the  better  for  my  game !  —  Madam," 
he  said  aloud,  again  retreating,  again  bowing 
low,  "it  is  clear  you  misunderstand  me. 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY   ANNE 


Safe  with  me!"  he  repeated,  a  sudden  ring 
of  pathos  in  his  voice.  "  Could  you  but 
know  —  could  I  but  show  you  the  image  in 
my  heart  —  you  would  understand  how,  for 
the  sake  of  one,  all  womanhood  is  sacred  to 
me!" 

He  made  a  flourish  with  his  hat,  and  took 
a  step  as  if  to  depart,  well  counting  on  the 
quick  gesture  of  recall,  which,  indeed,  did 
not  fail  him.  James  Devlin  was  of  those 
who  know  every  possible  combination  of 
sound  in  the  instrument,  Woman  —  who 
have  studied  the  instrument,  indeed,  till 
their  nimbleness  of  finger  is  perfect.  Yet  it 
is  not  always  to  such  that  she  yields  her 
sweetest  music. 

"  Nay,"  cried  foolish  Nan,  with  that  flutter 
of  the  white  hand  that  bade  him  stay.  And 
as  she  spoke,  the  first  low  mutter  of  the 
thunder  began  to  roll  along  the  eastern  hori- 
zon. "  Nay,  rumour  has  other  tales  of  Sir 
James  Devlin.  If  his  thoughts  are  on  one 
woman,  't  is  a  secret  he  has  vastly  well  kept." 

A  singular  attentiveness  came  over  the 
listener.  One  of  less  experience  than  him- 
self might  have  been  flattered  by  the  bitter- 
[216] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


ness  of  her  tone,  the  pointedness  of  the 
accusation,  the  sudden  discarding  of  pre- 
tence. But  not  so  he. 

"Rumour?"  said  he  lightly,  whilst  his 
mind  pondered.  "  Rumour  is  a  lying  jade. 
A  man's  heart  may  be  heaviest  when  he 
seems  to  treat  life  as  a  jest." 

"  Oh,  ay,  doubtless  't  is  the  way  with  you 
gentlemen ;  and  you  but  seek  consolation  to 
prove  that  you  are  wounded.  Would  that 
we  women  were  as  wise !  I  trust,"  Nan 
went  on  with  a  little  titter,  "  that  those  sup- 
pers with  the  fair  Brereton  lie  with  emol- 
lience  on  the  smart." 

Devlin  laughed.  She  had  a  biting  tongue 
that  stirred  him.  The  piquancy  of  her  for- 
eign accent,  of  her  occasional  foreign  turn  of 
phrase,  added  a  zest  to  her  sallies.  Still  he 
groped.  A  faint  flash  reft  the  black  sky ;  so 
came  an  uncertain  glimmer  across  his  mind. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  he  had,  after  all, 
prevailed  where  he  had  been  conscious  but 
of  ill-success  ? 

"  Oh,  fie,  who  can  have  had  interest  thus 
to  malign  me,  fair  Unknown?"  said  he. 

"  And  what  would  my  Lady  C C 

[  217] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


say  —  or,  indeed,  if  it  comes  to  that,  her 
Ladyship  of  S ?" 

"Ah,  now  I  begin  to  see  daylight.  Most 
dear  Madam,  idle  gossip  has  mistaken  me 
for  my  friend,  for  my  bosom  friend,  my 
shadow,  my  alter  ego  —  him  whom  they  call 
Squire  Haycock,  the  country  buck;  the  last, 
positively  the  last  favourite  with  all  the  fair. 
Alack,  I  would  glorify  myself  with  his  con- 
quests an  I  could,  for  they  are  complete, 
Madam  —  complete  and  —  numerous  !  " 

The  lady  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  laughter 
of  an  exceeding  bitter  quality. 

"  Is  this  gentleman,  then,  so  irresistible  ? 
Truly,  I  must  guard  against  meeting  him  ! 
And  have  you  no  fear,  Sir,  lest  your  Town 
innocence  may  be  corrupted  by  his  country 
profligacy,  that  you  thus  grant  him  such 
close  friendship  ?  But  see  how  evil-tongued 
the  world  is!  It  is  said  that  'tis  you 
have  led  this  bucolic  youth  into  his  wicked 
ways." 

"  I  ?  "  cried  Devlin,  clapping  his  hands  to- 
gether in  the  dark.  "  'T  is  thus  the  world 
would  judge  of  the  purest  philanthropy!  If 
I  helped  the  lad  to  fill  a  lonely  life,  you 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


in  your  womanly  compassion  would  be 
surely  the  first  to  commend  me." 

"  And  you  and  he,"  she  interposed  in  a 
strangled,  passionate  whisper,  "  have  con- 
trived consolation  vastly  well!" 

Devlin  laughed  to  himself  noiselessly. 
So  the  little  Madam  was  jealous  —  jealous 
of  her  husband !  The  discovery  had  come 
with  none  of  the  mortification  it  might  have 
brought  to  a  less  hardened  philosopher. 
Jealousy  was  no  bad  bridge  across  the  seem- 
ingly impassable  chasm  of  a  woman's  virtue. 
It  was  Philip  Day !  He  had,  in  truth, 
struck  a  mighty  friendship  with  Philip  Day 
for  reasons  of  his  own :  now  was  their  wis- 
dom proved. 

"And  you  gentlemen,"  pursued  the  soft 
voice  beside  him,  "  are  such  generous  com- 
rades! Quite  willing  to  share  your  —  com- 
ment dire  —  your  consolations  with  each 
other,  I  understand." 

"  I,  Madam  ?  Nay,  I  seek  not  so  high  as 
Squire  Day  these  times,  though  truly  I  would 
venture  so  much  higher.  He- 

"  He  —  ?  " 

"  Pshaw !     Why  should  we  talk  of  him  ?  " 

[  219] 


SI  THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

"Why,  indeed  —  why  should  we  talk  at 
all?  Good-night.  He  —  ?" 

"  My  fair  Unknown,  if  Mother  Eve's  curi- 
osity so  torments  you,  go  you  but  to  Vauxhall 
to-morrow  night,  and  you  may  see  the  coun- 
try conqueror  in  a  supper-box  with  his  last  and 
highest  love.  Her  Grace  has  wagered  - 

"  Her  Grace  has  wagered  ? "  echoed  the 
wife  mechanically,  in  dull  tones  of  misery. 
She  clenched  her  hands  till  the  nails  ran  into 
her  palms.  "  Go  on !  "  she  cried.  Then, 
breaking  out  fiercely  in  her  impatience  as 
the  meaning  of  his  words  burnt  ever  more 
clearly  in  her  brain  :  "  Her  Grace  ?  —  who 
is  her  Grace  ?  What  has  she  dared  wager  ? " 

"Why"  —  he  smiled,  and  had  she  been 
less  feverishly  excited  she  might  have  noted 
as  ominous  that  he  should  allow  her  aston- 
ishing passion  to  pass  unnoticed  —  "why, 

her  Grace  of  D .  She  has  wagered 

merely  that  she  will  flaunt  what  all  the 
world  knov/s  already  —  her  conquest  of  my 
very  poor  friend  in  the  unequivocal  circum- 
stances of  a  private  box  at  Vauxhall  to- 
morrow night." 

Upon  his  words,  as  if  voicing  Nan's  despair, 
[  220  ] 


gg  THE    HEART   OF   LADY   ANNE  gg 

the  night  suddenly  broke  into  squall.  Wind, 
rain,  lightning,  thunder  were  upon  them. 
The  trees  in  the  Mall  flashed  at  intervals 
for  a  second's  space  before  Devlin's  vision, 
white  and  frantic,  wrestling  with  the  blast. 
The  face  of  the  slight  figure  by  his  side  was 
a  moment  betrayed  to  him  in  a  stricken, 
pallid  loveliness  which  set  his  blood  exult- 
ing. She  looked  desperate,  and  never  more 
desirable.  The  man's  spirit,  fierce  beneath 
his  armour  of  artificiality,  rose  elate  with 
the  tumult  of  the  elements.  Had  he  not 
known  all  the  evening  that  his  hour  was 
coming? 

A  second  had  Nan  been  betrayed;  but 
only  for  a  second.  Quickly  she  flung  her 
scarf  over  her  flapping  hat,  and  drew  the 
wide  brim  tightly  round  her  cheek.  The 
storm  in  her  own  heart  made  her  insensible 
to  that  which  raged  around  her.  Of  the  un- 
willing fascination  this  man  had  previously 
exercised  upon  her,  to-night  she  felt  nothing ; 
the  tide  of  her  jealousy  was  too  strong  to 
allow  of  any  other  emotion.  He  was  but  a 
pawn  to  her  in  the  bitter  game  of  retaliation 
upon  which  she  was  resolved. 
[  221  ] 


Sg  THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE  gg 

The  unerring  instinct  of  woman's  coquetry 
taught  this  innocent  daughter  of  Eve  that 
now  was  the  moment  for  her  to  fly  that  he 
might  pursue  with  increasing  ardour.  That, 
recognised  or  unrecognised,  she  must  still 
play  the  game  of  her  incognito. 

"  Farewell,  Sir,"  she  cried,  and  started 
running. 

In  a  second  he  was  beside  her,  shaken 
from  that  coolness  which  gave  him  such  in- 
supportable and  unflattering  superiority. 

"  We  cannot  part  thus  !  " 

She  halted  and  faced  him  with  well- 
simulated  indignation. 

"  Sir,  I  have  help  within  call.  At  your 
peril  pursue  me  one  step  further!  " 

The  blast  dashed  between  them.  She 
saw  his  face  quivering  in  a  brief  lurid  light. 

"  You  cannot  be  so  cruel ;  we  must  meet 


again  — 


Upon  this  the  thunder  rolled.  He  caught 
at  her  through  the  gloom.  A  piece  of  her 
scarf,  taut  in  his  hand,  revealed  that  he  had 
indeed,  just  in  time,  arrested  her  flight. 

"  What  of  her  for  whose  sake  all  woman- 
hood is  sacred  to  you  ?  "  mocked  the  pretty 
[  222  ] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY   ANNE 


voice,  sweeter  than  ever,  after  the  mighty 
note  of  the  storm. 

"  Nay,"  he  urged,  sliding  his  hand  along 
the  wet  silk  of  her  scarf  to  the  slight  arm 
that  resisted  his  touch,  "  some  miracle  has 
taken  place,  for  I  vow,  of  all  the  world,  you 
are  she." 

"  Let  me  go,  Sir,  or  I  shall  call." 

"  One  word,  one  hope  ! " 

There  came  a  curious  pause. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  one  never  knows."  Her  mit- 
tened  hand  was  in  his  grasp,  but  it  lay  so 
inert  that  even  his  ardour  could  find  therein 
no  encouragement  to  match  with  the  mys- 
terious change  in  her  tone.  "Just  now  it  is 
no — no  —  no!  But  you  gentlemen  say  of 
us  we  change  our  mind — sometimes." 

"  And  if  you  change— when  you  change 
yours?"  he  whispered.  He  raised  the  cold 
hand  to  his  lips. 

"Mon  Dieu,  Sir  —  were  such  a  thing  to 
happen  —  Sir  James  Devlin  is  no  difficult  per- 
son to  find." 

"My  God!"  he  said — and  when  Jim 
Devlin  (in  this  most  unlike  his  brothers  of 
pleasure)  used  an  oath  it  was  when,  rarest  of 
[  223] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


occurrence,  he  was  truly  moved  —  "a  word 
from  you  and  I  will  come  from  the  end  of  the 
world !  " 

"  Why,  then,  good-night  —  one  never 
knows." 

They  were  close  by  the  postern  of  her  back 
garden.  And  he  knew,  perhaps,  that  the 
best  of  his  play  was  not  to  force  his  oppor- 
tunity. But  never  had  he  had  to  set  stronger 
control  upon  himself,  than  at  this  moment, 
when  he  allowed  the  little  unresponsive  hand 
to  glide  from  his  touch,  the  slender,  storm- 
shaken  figure  to  escape  him  in  the  darkness. 

He  stood  while  the  storm  beat  round  him, 
and  heard,  between  the  howl  of  the  blast  and 
the  patter  of  the  rain,  the  click  of  the  lock 
which  separated  them.  The  storm  had 
cheated  him  of  his  promise.  The  devil  loose 
within  him  must  be  chained  again. 

"  I  can  wait,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  I  can 
wait." 

He  started  off  at  a  furious  pace  through 
the  rain  back  to  the  club  —  no  rendezvous 
should  know  him  to-night,  since  one  that 
misfht  have  meant  so  much  had  eluded  him 

O 

almost  as  he  held  it.     To  still  one  passion 
[  224] 


&  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

he  must  throw  himself  upon  another — the 
cards,  the  cards! — Philip,  the  husband,  the 
fool,  to  despoil  still  further !  He  would 
yet  make  a  night  of  it,  though  Fate  had 
denied  him  her  tantalising  promise.  As  he 
splashed  along,  he  never  noticed  how,  in  the 
dark,  from  tree  to  tree,  another  followed. 

Upstairs,  in  her  lonely  bed-room,  Nan 
flung  off  her  sodden  wraps.  Her  cheeks 
were  flaming,  her  heart  was  on  fire. 

The  summer  storm  circled  from  east  to 
west,  muttered  and  faded  through  the  watches 
of  the  night,  grew  again  and  clamoured,  and 
at  last  died  away,  leaving  a  washed  and  glisten- 
ing world  rejuvenated,  refreshed,  breathing 
sweetness  and  peace.  But  the  tumult  in 
the  wife's  heart  passed  in  no  such  whole- 
some fashion.  Until  that  moment  (now 
it  seemed  for  ever  unattainable)  when  she 
could  weep  her  bitterness  away  upon  the 
breast  of  the  husband  she  loved  (she  her- 
self scarcely  knew  how  much)  there  never 
could  be  peace  in  her  soul.  Less  than  ever, 
poor  Nan,  if  she  sent  that  letter,  which  in 
the  placid  dawn  she  rose  to  write  ! 
'5  [  225  ] 


^  THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE   gg 

All  the  while  the  pen  ran,  in  elaborate 
feigned  writing,  the  hand  throbbed  with  the 
imprint  of  a  kiss  against  which  her  whole 
being  revolted.  Jim  Devlin  knew  his  world  : 
many  a  good  woman  fails  through  jealousy 
that  would  have  been  strong  against  love 
itself. 


[  226  ] 


C    H   A    I 


X  v  i 


•H- 


CHAPTER   XVI 


"AVE  you  seen  Day  and  the 
Devil?"  said  one  member 
of  Brooks'  to  another,  jerk- 
ing his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder  in  the  direction  of 
the  card-room.  "  Hot  go- 
ing, I  can  assure  you." 

"  What,  already  ?  "  cried 
my  Lord  Verney,  glancing 
at  the  clock.  It  was  scarce 
two  after  noon. 

"Already?"  echoed  Mr. 
Stafford.  "  Nay,  man,  they 
sat  down  at  eleven,  and 
there  are  fortunes  passing 
across  that  table  that  would 
make  a  modest  individual 
like  myself  prodigious  comfortable  for  a 
year." 

"  Our  country  lad  being  bled,  as  usual  ?  " 
This  handsome,  downright,  sturdy  Squire, 
who  promised  so  suddenly  to  cut  them  all 
[  229] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


out  with  the  fair  sex  this  season,  was  no 
favourite  among  the  fashionable  youth  on 
the  Town.  Even  that  serious  beau,  Lord 
Verney,  had  his  sneer  for  him. 

"  Wrong,  my  Lord,  wrong  this  time !  " 
cried  his  companion  jovially.  "  The  Squire 
is  getting  back  his  own ;  and  Devlin  's  more 
like  his  own  sulphureous  godpapa  than  ever. 
He  '11  sit  till  he  's  bewared  ;  the  luck 's  dead 

oo 

against  him.  He  'd  stake  his  soul,  I  be- 
lieve, if  Day  were  fool  enough  to  throw  on 
such  security." 

Lord  Verney  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but 
merely  to  give  countenance  to  his  curiosity ; 
for,  as  he  shrugged,  he  drew  near  to  the 
card-table  in  the  window  recess,  where  he 
had  caught  sight  of  Devlin's  sharp  outline. 

Here  matters  seemed,  indeed,  as  Mr. 
Stafford  had  described.  Philip  Day,  with  a 
composed  yet  watchful  countenance,  sat,  a 
pile  of  papers  and  coin  on  either  side  of 
him,  facing  Sir  James,  who,  white-cheeked 
and  fiery-eyed,  was  shuffling  with  fevered 
eagerness. 

Devlin  was  known  as  a  successful  gambler; 
his  cool  head  and  remorseless  determination 
[  230] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


invariably  told  in  the  long  run  against  the 
impetuosity  of  his  usually  more  or  less 
youthful  opponents.  He  had  been  winning 
hand  over  hand  during  this  last  month  from 
his  new  sworn  friend,  so  that  many  had 
wondered  or  scoffed  at  the  simplicity  of  the 
"country  cousin's"  devotion  to  a  man  who 
was  ruining  him.  But  to-day  all  was  changed, 
and  the  rare  spectacle  of  Devlin  losing 
steadily  was  presented  to  Brooks'.  It  was 
soon  evident  that  he  was  a  bad  loser.  Not, 
indeed,  that  either  anger  or  distress  was 
written  on  his  set  features,  that  his  deliberate 
voice  was  raised,  that  he  entered  upon  pro- 
test or  lamentation  ;  but,  for  those  who  knew 
the  signs,  there  was  something  in  his  very 
intensity  of  stillness  that  betrayed  him :  the 
glitter  of  his  eye,  the  tension  of  his  fingers 
round  card  and  dice-box. 

"  He  's  desperate,"  whispered  Mr.  Stafford 
to  Lord  Verney  as  they  stood  looking  on ; 
"and  he'll  not  stop  till  he's  cleaned  out. 
Jim,"  cried  he  aloud  good-naturedly,  point- 
ing to  the  neglected  plate  and  glass  at  his 
friend's  left  hand,  "  take  your  smack,  man ! 
Your  pardon,  Squire,  but  the  poor  devil 

[  231  ] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY   ANNE 


must  have  a  bite  to  keep  him  up — if  he  is 
to  go  on." 

There  was  a  slight  emphasis  on  the  "  if,' 
by  which  Mr.  Stafford,  a  gambler  himself  in 
moderation,  sought  to  hint  to  his  friend  that 
it  was  high  time  to  retire. 

Jim  Devlin  looked  up  from  his  cards  a 
second,  just  baring  his  teeth,  as  might  a  dog 
too  sullen  even  to  growl. 

"  Your  throw,"  said  he  in  his  low  voice 
to  Philip. 

"  If  you  wish  to  break  off,  Sir  James," 
said  Philip  —  the  great  urbanity  with  which 
he  spoke  contradicted  by  the  look  he  fixed 
upon  Devlin  —  "  I  am  quite  content." 

"  Break  off!  "  Devlin  had  a  laugh  in  his 
throat  that  was  not  written  on  his  face. 
"  Nay,  man,  that  would  leave  the  balance 
somewhat  unequal,  would  it  not  ? " 

"  Then  I  am  equally  content  we  should  go 
on,"  said  the  Squire,  taking  up  the  dice-box 
in  his  steady  brown  hand.  "  What  shall  be 
the  stake  ?  A  hundred  —  " 

"  A  hundred  ?     Five  hundred  !  " 

Verney  and  Stafford  looked  at  each  other. 
Nothing,  somehow  or  other,  was  more  certain 
[  232  ] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


to  them  than  that  Devlin  would  lose  again. 
And  truly  in  another  minute,  with  philo- 
sophic eye,  they  watched  him  scribble  his  note. 
Philip  Day  placed  the  paper  neatly  on  his 
pile,  gathered  the  cards  into  his  grasp,  and 
shuffled  once  more.  Devlin,  his  forehead  on 
the  back  of  his  hand,  added  some  calcula- 
tions to  a  long  list  of  figures  on  his  tab- 
lets. His  brows  were  drawn,  his  lips  moved 
noiselessly. 

A  servant  came  across  the  room,  on  foot 
of  practised  noiselessness.  He  halted  beside 
Sir  James,  holding  a  tray  with  two  or  three 
letters  on  a  level  with  his  elbow. 

"  Blast  you  !  What  do  you  want  ?  "  cried 
Devlin  savagely. 

"  Your  man,  Sir  James,  brought  them 
letters  —  one  of  them,  says  he,  is  urgent." 

With  a  swift  movement  of  his  hand  Devlin 
tipped  the  letters  from  the  tray  on  to  the 
table,  and  plunged  back  into  his  calculation, 
without  even  deigning  a  glance  upon  them. 
They  lay  across  the  cards.  One  was  on  its 
face,  with  sprawling  seal  upturned;  one  was 
addressed  in  clerkly  hand  ;  the  third  (marked 
"  Urgent,"  with  two  dashes)  unmistakably 

[  233] 


gg  THE    HEART    OF    LADY    ANNE  gg 

bore  a  woman's  writing,  as  unmistakably  a 
feigned  one,  yet  with  a  couple  of  betraying 
foreign  flourishes.  Upon  this  last  letter 
Philip  Day's  gaze  became  riveted,  as  he  sat 
waiting.  The  onlookers'  interest  was  all 
centred  upon  his  opponent,  however:  and, 
indeed,  Devlin's  was  the  countenance  of  a 
man  who  stares  at  his  own  ruin. 

"  Shall  we  go  on  ?  "  said  the  Squire  at 
last.  He  spoke  a  little  hoarsely.  Devlin 
put  down  the  paper  in  his  hand  and  looked 
across  at  him.  His  white  lips  were  parted 
in  a  spasmodic  grin. 

"  It 's  full-stop  with  me  this  time,"  he  said  in 
a  sort  of  whisper. 

Philip  seemed  to  ponder  a  second.  Then, 
without  betraying  the  smallest  emotion,  he 
made  answer  — 

"  Nay,  that  would  be  a  pity.  Surely  there 
is  yet  something  you  can  stake." 

"  I  reckoned  my  last  nag  in  the  last 
I  O  U,"  said  Devlin,  and  was  shaken  once 
again  with  a  ghastly  mirth. 

"Why,"  said  Day,  leaning  across  the  table, 
so  that  his  big  card-cuffs  almost  covered  the 
letters,  "  for  the  sport's  sake  let  us  throw 
[234] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


again,  I  say.  I  should  be  loth  to  rise  from 
the  table  so  easy  a  winner,  and  my  blood 
is  up." 

He  looked  cold  and  pale  under  his  bronze, 
and  his  tone  was  singularly  passionless  as 
he  spoke.  Mr.  Stafford  nudged  my  Lord 
Verney. 

"  The  roles  are  changed,"  he  whispered ; 
"  the  devil 's  gone  into  our  good  country 
lad,  and  he  's  for  Jim's  soul  after  all! " 

"  Any  asset  is  good  enough  for  a  sporting 
stake,"  went  on  Philip,  while  Devlin  stared 
at  him  with  hot,  weary  eyes.  "  The  sport 's 
the  thing!  Why — why,  I'll  play  you  for 
this  letter.  Five  hundred  was  the  last  stake  ! 
Five  hundred,  then,  against  this  letter ! " 
He  lifted  his  cuff  and,  so  doing,  dexterously 
turned  over  the  letter  marked  "  Urgent," 
then  laid  his  forefinger  upon  it.  It  was 
sealed  with  a  plain  green  wafer. 

Devlin  glanced  at  the  letter,  then  back 
again  at  Philip. 

"  Are  you  serious  ? "  he  cried,  his  light  eyes 
flashing.  "You're  a  rare  fellow,  Philip"  — 
there  was  almost  a  note  of  contempt  in  the 
relief  of  his  voice.  "  Done  with  you  !  " 

[  235  ] 


jg  THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE   gg 

The  others  held  their  breath  for  the  next 
shuffle  and  throw. 

The  gambler's  luck  had  turned.  Jim 
Devlin  won. 

"  We  '11  throw  again,"  he  cried.  "  Five 
hundred?"  He  held  up  the  note  he  had 
just  recovered. 

"  Nay,"  said  Philip  quietly,  "  the  same 
stake." 

"  How  now  ?  " 

"  The  letter !  I  Ve  a  fancy  for  it  now.  I 
see  it  brings  luck." 

Jim  Devlin  eyed  its  green  seal  a  second 
reflectively :  he  had  still  much  leeway  to 
make  good.  He  is  no  gambler  who  has  not 
a  fervent  belief  in  luck.  "  The  letter,  then," 
cried  he.  So  far,  indeed,  it  had  proved  a 
mascot  to  him.  The  letter  it  should  be. 
As  to  its  contents  ?  Reproach,  tears  !  He 
knew  its  contents  by  heart  already.  Did 
not  the  minx  in  Whitehall,  whom  he  had 
failed  last  night,  favour  such  green  wafers? 
Lucky  at  cards,  unlucky  in  love  —  Well, 
she  was  unlucky  enough  in  her  lover, 
poor  wretch,  to  illustrate  the  saw  for  him 
to-day. 

[236] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


His  whole  fortune  was  at  stake.  Vaguely 
he  thought  of  Lady  Nan  —  capricious  beauty 
—  and  now  it  was  but  to  be  glad  of  last 
night's  unsuccess :  the  more  chance  for  him 
to-day.  Unlucky  in  love !  Not  that  he 
would  give  her  up  in  the  end,  but  that 
all  other  passions  pale  before  the  self- 
centred  personal  lust  of  the  gambler. 

Again  he  won.  Again  the  Squire  im- 
perturbably  proposed  a  fresh  throw. 

"  Still  the  same  stake  ?  " 

And  "Still  the  same  stake,"  came  the 
answer. 

"  Squire  Haycock  's  gone  mad  !  "  cried 
Verney  at  last  in  hardly  subdued  tones. 

"  Not  so,  gentlemen,"  said  Philip,  looking 
up  with  a  pleasant  air,  "  but  an  apt  pupil  in 
your  London  school.  Come,  Sir  James,  you 
have  the  luck,  but  I  have  still  some  haycocks 
at  my  back.  We  stand  even,  now,  I  believe.'1 
He  pushed  the  heaps  of  I  O  U's  and  coin 
towards  his  partner.  "  We  stand  even,"  he 
repeated.  "  Then  let  me  propose.  Five 
hundred  again  ?  " 

Jim  Devlin  hesitated  ;  his  eye  sought  the 
green  wafer  uneasily.  A  vague  suspicion 

[  237] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


flickered  into  his  mind.     He  leaned  across 
the  table  as  if  to  turn  over  the  letter. 

"  Why,  Jim,"  interrupted  Mr.  Stafford, 
41  you  '11  never  let  shire  beat  St.  James  in 
sporting  valour." 

"  A  thousand  against  this  missive  ? "  pro- 
posed Philip  coolly. 

"  Done,  then  !  "  cried  Devlin  hastily.  He 
shuffled,  threw  —  and  lost. 

"  The  luck  has  turned  again,"  said  Lord 
Verney.  "  Be  wise,  Sir  James." 

"  This  time,  my  Lord,"  said  Philip,  rising 
deliberately,  "  your  friendly  advice  is  need- 
less :  Sir  James  and  I  play  no  more  to-day." 

He  took  up  his  unusual  gain  from  the 
table.  Devlin  raised  uneasy  eyes  from  the 
gold  and  paper  he  was  sorting. 

"  You  will  let  a  man  see  the  amount  of 
his  loss,  at  least?  "  he  queried,  with  a  would- 
be  indifferent  smile,  and  stretched  out  his 
hand. 

"  Nay,"  said  Philip,  smiling  back,  "  that 
was  not  in  the  bargain."  As  he  spoke  he 
slipped  the  letter  into  his  breast-pocket. 

"  Why,  then,  we  meet  again  this  even- 
ing?" urged  Devlin. 

[238] 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


"  I  rather  think  I  may  be  engaged,"  re- 
turned the  Squire,  "so  pray  do  not  count 
upon  me.  Fare  ye  well,  gentlemen." 

The  strong  figure  swung  down  the  room. 
As  Devlin  looked  after  it  a  sudden  angry 
fire  sprang  into  his  puzzled  eye.  By  gad ! 
-  those  were  the  shoulders  of  the  man  who 
had  jostled  him  on  the  steps  of  Elm  Park 
House  to  hie  after  Lady  Anne's  coach.  He 
had  thought  to  play  a  very  fine  game  with 
Master  Haycock.  Was  it  possible,  could  it 
be  possible,  that  he  —  he,  Jim  Devlin!  had 
been  played  with  ?  The  mischief,  that  he 
had  not  had  the  sense  to  stop  before  the  last 
throw! 

He  hurried  across  the  Park  to  call  at 
Lady  Anne 's  door :  her  Ladyship  was  at 
home  to  no  one. 

It  was,  it  seemed  to  the  experienced  Sir 
James,  beyond  the  bounds  of  credibility  that 
the  letter  could  have  come  from  her,  that  she 
could  have  summoned  him  so  soon.  But 
yet,  Day's  attitude  had  been  passing  strange 
for  a  man  who  had  won  back  his  whole 
fortune  in  an  hour. 

Jim  the  Devil  wore  a  countenance  of  un- 
[  239] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


wonted  gloom  as  he  turned  away  from  Lady 
Anne's  door;  which  was  not  lessened  when 
he  next  ascertained  that  "  the  minx "  in 
Whitehall  had  not  written.  There  is  no 
counting  on  the  jades  ! 


[240] 


H 


CHAPTER   XVII 


HE  lights  twinkled 
among  the  trees ;  the  band 
played  loud  and  gay.  In 
the  boxes  all  round  the 
rotunda,  and  among  the 
walking  throng,  the  fun 
was  fast  and  furious. 

But  in  supper-box  num- 
ber 13,  at  Vauxhall,  this 
July  night,  dimness 
reigned  and  silence.  Yet  it 
was  not  deserted.  Behind 
the  half -drawn  curtains 
there  was  a  small  shrink- 
ing form,  and  a  heart  out- 
beating  even  the  rhythm 
of  the  dance-music. 
Now  that  she  was  here,  all  Nan's  courage 
seemed  to  have  melted  from  her ;  all  her  high 
schemes  of  vengeance  to  have  broken  away. 
Only  that,  of  the  two  evils,  she  could  better 
face  the  thought  of  fencing  with  the  cavalier 

[243] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


to  whom,  in  her  heat  of  anger,  she  had  given 
rendezvous,  than  of  fraying  herself  a  passage 
alone,  unprotected,  back  through  that  seeth- 
ing, vulgar,  insolent  crowd,  she  would  have 
instantly  sought  to  make  the  best  of  her  way 
back. 

Her  bold  plan  of  confronting  Philip  - 
the  gay  buck  que  toutes  ces  belles  dames 
s  arrachaient — in  his  triumphant  faithless- 
ness with  his  enamoured  Duchess,  herself 
leaning  upon  the  arm  of  another  man,  seemed 
now  neither  tempting  nor  possible.  She 
only  wanted  to  creep  home,  poor  wounded 
bird!  Oh  —  if  the  green  walls  of  Queen's 
Compton's  woods  were  but  about  her  again, 
God  knows  she  would  never  ask  to  fly 
beyond !  Nay  (so  low  had  Nan  been 
brought),  she  told  herself  she  could  have 
sat  at  Madam  Day's  knee,  have  confessed 
and  been  chidden,  wept  and  been  forgiven 
—  all  with  considerable  comfort. 

The  noisy  mirth  about  her,  the  hideous 
laughter  of  the  throng,  the  clamour  of  the 
music,  accentuated  her  sense  of  misery. 
Let  Philip  have  his  Duchess,  his  suppers, 
his  private  meetings.  As  for  herself,  she 

[  244] 


THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE 


was  done  with  it.  She  would  go  home. 
Home  to  Queen's  Compton.  Though  he 
loved  her  no  longer,  he  could  not  refuse  her 
that  shelter  which  was  her  right. 

Three  taps  at  the  door  of  her  box  —  the 
signal  she  had  herself  devised — set  those 

O 

fluttering  pulses  of  hers  out  of  all  bounds. 
Yet  she  almost  welcomed  the  end  of  her 
suspense.  She  pulled  the  string  of  the  latch, 
then  ensconced  herself  more  closely  still  in 
her  retired  seat,  drawing  the  hood  of  her 
domino  further  across  her  face. 

Yet  the  instant  she  laid  eyes  on  the  new- 
comer she  knew  that  here  was  not  the  man 
whom  she  had  expected.  The  tall,  cloaked 
figure  well-nigh  filled  the  box-door.  Nan's 
heart  almost  fainted  away  within  her  as  she 
realised  what  no  doubt  had  occurred:  some 
passing  adventurer  had  noticed  the  gloom 
and  silence  of  her  box,  and  promised  himself 
a  gallant  opportunity.  Why  had  she  not 
fixed  upon  a  less  commonplace  signal  ?  Any 
one  might  tap  three  times. 

Had  she  had  the  strength  to  call  for  help, 
it  could  but  have  exposed  her  to  irretrievable 


THE    HEART   OF   LADY   ANNE 


scandal.  Like  some  frightened  thing  of  the 
woods,  she  cowered,  as  if  by  her  very  immo- 
bility she  could  escape  attack. 

The  stranger's  cloak  was  flung  half  across 
the  lower  part  of  his  face,  his  hat  drawn 
down  across  the  upper.  He  stood  a  moment 
in  the  centre  of  the.  box;  and,  all  the  more 
intolerably,  because  she  could  not  see  them, 
she  felt  his  eyes  upon  her. 

Then  a  new  terror  laid  hold  of  her  because 
of  the  words  he  was  speaking : 

'"Vauxhall  to-night,  box  13.  Tap  three 
times.  I  shall  be  there  at  half  after  nine. 
The  Unknown  of  the  Mall.'  Am  I  late? " 

Nan  rose  with  a  single  movement  from 
her  chair. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  panted,  one  hand 
upon  the  curtains  of  the  window,  ready  to 
draw  them  aside,  should  she  have  to  call  for 
assistance,  the  other  gathering  the  conceal- 
ing domino  more  closely  across  her  figure. 

The  man  closed  the  door  of  the  box  care- 
fully behind  him;  then  he  advanced  across 
the  dim  little  space,  so  close  to  her  that  he 
could  hear  all  her  silks  rustle  with  her  quick 
breathing. 

[246] 


&  THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  g 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  when  two  that  are 
unknown  meet,  't  is  doubtless  for  better 
acquaintance.  But  over  so  entrancing  a 
process  let  us  not  hurry !  With  your  per- 
mission, Madam,  I  will  take  this  seat  beside 
you.  Will  you  not  be  seated  too  ?  " 

Nan's  righteous  indignation  lost  some  of 
its  impressiveness  by  having  to  pass  through 
the  folds  of  her  hood.  But,  muffled  as  her 
voice  was,  there  was  no  doubt  that  she  was 
very  angry: 

"  You  have  no  right  here,  Sir !  You  are 
no  gentleman  to  thrust  yourself  upon  a 
lady's  company!" 

"  Nay,  beautiful  Unknown,  as  fairly  and 
honestly  as  any  gentleman  could,  I  have 
gained  the  right  to  meet  you  in  these  gar- 
dens of  delight  this  evening." 

"  Sir !  " 

"  Madam,  't  was  but  a  throw  of  the  dice, 
if  you  will.  But  a  lady  of  your  quality 
will  need  no  explanation  of  the  rules  of 
honour  among  us  bucks  on  the  Town  — " 
The  sneer,  just  perceptible  in  the  previous 
speech,  was  here  emphasised  in  unmistakable 
fashion. 

[  247] 


gg  THE   HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  g 

"  Oh !  "  cried  the  unhappy  bride,  a  be- 
wildered yet  overwhelming  suspicion  upon 
her,  "  my  letter  !  Ah  del,  is  this  the  honour 
of  English  gentlemen  ?  " 

"  Fortune  favoured  me,"  said  the  man, 
leaning  so  close  to  her  that,  though  she  drew 
back  till  her  head  struck  the  wall  of  the  box, 
the  sense  of  his  proximity,  in  its  strength 
and  relentlessness,  brooded  upon  her  as  a 
swooning  terror. 

"  I  shall  call  for  help  !  "  she  gasped,  pulling 
aimlessly  at  the  curtains. 

"  Nay,"  he  answered,  "  I  think,  Madam, 
yours  would  seem  a  strange  tale,  unless,  in- 
deed, you  will  deny  this  letter,  which  I 
have  carried  so  happily  in  my  breast  all 
day:  'Box  13,  Vauxhall  to-night.  Tap 
three  —  '" 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  hysterical 
cry: 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  Hush !  "  and  sank  palpi- 
tating on  her  seat.  Into  what  mire  had  she 
not  stepped,  dragging  after  her  the  good 
name  of  Day?  Well,  she  would  still  fight 
her  best  to  keep  it  from  open  scandal.  And 
if  she  could  not  weary  the  insolent  wretch 
[248] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


by  scorn  and  silence  —  why  then,  at  the 
worst  she  could  always  call. 

She  clutched  the  silken  folds  of  her  cloak 
tightly  across  her  breast  with  two  desperate 
hands.  She  would  say  not  a  word  —  not 
one  word.  And  ce  beaugalant  would  at  last 
tire  of  so  one-sided  an  amusement ! 

But  ce  beau  galant  sat  him  down  on  the 
chair  beside  her  with  an  alarmingly  deliberate 
air. 

"  And  now,  to  make  acquaintance.  What 
a  lucky  throw  of  the  dice  was  that  for  me ! 
Come  now,  I  '11  forfeit  for  ever  my  character 
as  one  who  has  some  knowledge  of  your 
lovely  sex  if  within  half  an  hour  you  do  not 
say  that  it  has  been  a  lucky  throw  of  the 
dice  for  you  too.  Come,  look  at  me,  pretty 
Unknown  of  the  Mall.  Am  I  not  as  good  a 
figure  of  a  fellow  as  the  one  you  hoped  to 
meet  ?  Come,  be  truthful,  am  I  not  even 
a  finer  fellow?  'Tis  said  that  silence 
gives  consent.  This  admission,  once  made, 
't  is  the  first  step  to  good  acquaintance.  For 
the  next — just  the  tip  of  your  little  hand  in 
mine  —  one  of  your  rosy  fingers  to  hold. 
Nay,  Madam,  do  not  shrink ;  I  am  the  most 
[  249  ] 


i9  THE    HEART   OF    LADY   ANNE  & 

respectful,  if  the  most  privileged,  of  your 
servants.  One  of  those  little  fingers,  'tis 
surely  not  too  much  to  ask." 

A  hand,  very  gentle  yet  very  strong,  was 
laid  across  hers  as  she  clenched  them  under 
the  domino.  She  faintly  shrieked  at  the 
touch,  but  it  was  not  withdrawn. 

"  Oh,  Madam,"  pursued  he,  his  lips  close 
to  her  hood,  "  this  is  truly  most  excellent 
sport.  How  prodigious  well  you  know  the 
rules  of  the  game !  " 

Suffocating,  she  could  utter  no  further 
sound,  but  flung  all  her  energies  into  a  mute 
passion  of  resistance.  Not  even  the  tip  of 
her  finger  should  the  monster  plume  him- 
self upon  obtaining  from  her.  His  presence 
seemed  to  encircle,  to  strangle  her,  although 
it  was  but  with  one  hand  lightly  that  he  held 
her;  a  hand  of  iron  in  a  velvet  glove ! 

"  And  now,"  cried  he,  with  a  sudden  laugh, 
"  I  vow  the  preliminaries  have  lasted  long 
enough.  You  have  sufficiently  convinced 
me,  my  dear,  that  you  Ye  most  daintily  coy, 
and  of  sufficient  virtue.  Sweet  Unknown 
of  the  Mall,  pass  over  further  preliminaries! 
The  charming  facts  speak  for  themselves. 

[250] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY   ANNE 


Here,  a  fair  lady,  faithful  to  the  rendezvous 
which  she  has  made  with  a  certain  gallant 
gentleman;  and  here  a  gentleman  to  her 
rendezvous,  without  undue  vanity,  be  it 
spoken,  vastly  superior  to  the  one  she  ex- 
pected to  see  —  as,  if  you  will  but  look  on 
his  countenance,  Madam,  you  will  instantly 
recognise  for  yourself." 

So  saying,  the  visitor  released  Nan's  silk- 
hidden  fingers,  removed  his  hat,  dropped  the 
screen  of  his  cloak,  and  parting  the  curtain 
of  the  box,  allowed  a  gleam  of  light  from 
without  to  play  upon  his  countenance. 

Nan  would  have  been  no  daughter  of  Eve 
if  she  had  not  been  peeping  at  him  from 
between  the  folds  of  her  hood. 

She  looked,  and  thought  herself  mad. 
Looked  again,  and  thought  she  would  die. 
Upon  a  third  look  she  could  have  cried 
aloud  in  frantic  gladness;  upon  a  fourth, 
felt  her  blood  invaded  by  the  creeping  ice  of 
terror.  Philip  —  it  was  Philip!  And  he 
had  no  idea  of  her  identity;  for  sure,  oh 
God,  he  had  not! — else  would  he  never 
have  betrayed  himself  to  her  in  that  mock- 
ing gallant  way ;  else,  indeed,  he  must  have 


THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE 


killed  her!  Here,  then,  was  some  trick  of 
Devlin  —  rightly  dubbed  Devil  —  to  part 
them  for  ever,  and  have  her  at  his  mercy. 

"  Well,  now,  your  verdict  ?  "  said  the  easy 
bantering  voice  that  smote  her  ear  with  a 
fresh  cruelty. 

The  handsome  face  before  her  bore  a  half 
mocking  smile ;  but  there  was  also  an  in- 
solent light  of  ardour  in  the  brown  eyes  that 
she  had  seen  burn  for  her  with  such  a  holy 
and  tender  flame. 

"  Does  not  the  prospect  please  ?  "  he  in- 
sisted. 

She  could  not  answer  :  if  she  had  spoken 
she  must  have  sobbed.  He  slid  an  arm 
around  her  waist  —  a  touch  which  thrilled 
her  with  unwilling  joy  and  yet  with  anguish. 
Then  a  sudden  fire,  fire  of  jealousy,  of  love, 
of  fury,  kindled  in  her  veins.  Now  she 
knew  how  Philip  amused  himself  while  her 
heart  was  breaking.  This  is  what  he  made 
of  his  marriage  vow  !  Ah,  fi  done  !  And 
she  who  had  kept  herself  so  pure,  even  in 
thought,  amid  all  her  dangers !  Was  un- 
faith,  then,  so  easy  a  thing  to  man  ?  It 
needed  not  even  the  excuse  of  the  great 
[252  ] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


lady's  fascination,  of  the  celebrated  actress's 
practised  allurements  —  no :  a  chance  ren- 
dezvous, fruits  of  an  ignoble  gamble,  and  the 
first  unknown  woman  good  enough  —  oh, 
horror ! 

In  her  frenzy,  she  wellnigh  revealed  her- 
self. But  a  second  thought  prevailed.  From 
the  very  heat  of  her  passion  came  a  sugges- 
tion of  irresistible  fascination.  She  would  re- 
serve her  vengeance  of  self-discovery  till  that 
moment  when  she  could  fling  her  identity 
in  his  face,  with  a  proof  of  his  own  falseness 
from  which  there  could  be  no  evasion. 

She  slipped,  as  if  carelessly,  a  white  hand 
from  the  folds  of  her  domino. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  she  cried,  upon  a  new 
note  of  feverish  coquetry,  "  you  have  a  pro- 
digious good  opinion  of  yourself!  But  I 

will  not  say "  She  stopped  to  bite  her 

trembling  lip.  Then  the  growing  jealousy 
would  assert  its  way.  "  I  will  not  say  but 

that  her  Grace  of  JD shows  herself  for 

once  a  woman  of  taste ! " 

A  sudden  gleam,  instantly  repressed, 
leaped  to  Philip  Day's  glance.  He  caught 
the  hand,  upon  its  quaint  French  flourish, 

[  253] 


THE    HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


into  his  grasp.  How  cold  they  were,  these 
hands  of  the  two  who  were  playing  pitch- 
and-toss  with  their  own  happiness  ! 

"  Her  Grace  ? "  echoed  he,  his  accents 
changing  from  their  careless  tone.  "  Pooh, 
sweetheart,  what  are  all  the  Graces  a  man 
has  known  to  the  one  grace  that  is  yet  a 
mystery  to  him  ?  " 

He  had  to  be  cruel  for  his  purpose ;  yet 
it  hurt  him  to  feel  the  tender  fingers  twitch 
in  his  hold. 

"  And  who  knows,  Sir,  that  you  may  not 
yet  be  sadly  disappointed  ? "  quoth  poor 
Nan,  with  a  sob  in  her  throat. 

"  I  ?  "  cried  he.  "  I  ?  —  nay,  my  dear,  nay, 
sweet  Unknown,  nay,  my  fair  prize  of  dice, 
inspiration  and  kind  fortune !  Why,  the 
very  sight  of  your  letter,  as  it  lay  before 
one  whom  I  vow  was  never  made  to  appre- 
ciate you,  struck  I  know  not  what  glow  into 
my  being.  Place  your  woman's  finger  on 
my  wrist  and  feel  how  these  pulses  beat :  I 
swear,  as  they  have  never  beat  before.  From 
the  instant,  sweetheart,  that  I  set  foot  in 
your  box,  I  knew  that  my  hour  had  come  — 
the  hour  that  a  man  knows  but  once  in  a 

[254] 


THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE 


lifetime !  Nay,  I  '11  never  believe  the  vision 
of  you  could  fail  of  the  promise,  of  the  ex- 
quisite promise,  that  runs  honey  and  flame 
in  my  blood.  But  if,  gentle  Mystery,  you 
wish  it  so,  I  shall  ask  no  dearer  boon  of  fate 
than  to  sit  with  you,  ever  in  the  darkness, 
and  hold  you  thus." 

Both  his  arms  were  about  her  now — the 
old  strong  clasp  for  which  she  had  hungered 
so  many  days  !  It  brought  with  it  to-night 
such  new,  overpowering  sweetness  to  Nan 
that  she  was  fain  to  yield  to  it  for  a  while 
before  the  harrowing  sense  of  all  the  bitter- 
ness it  really  meant  could  strike  home  to 
her.  Then  she  lifted  her  head  from  the 
shoulder  where  it  had  lain  so  willingly,  and 
with  both  hands  strove  to  thrust  him  away. 
But  all  her  strength  had  left  her;  as  well 
might  she  strive  to  move  a  rock. 

"  Why,  pretty  one,  were  we  not  well  as  we 
were  ?  "  he  said.  His  voice  was  shaken. 
He  caught  her  back.  He  felt  her  palpitate 
in  his  arms,  felt  how  her  poor  heart  beat  as 
he  crushed  her  against  his  breast,  how  she 
would  have  failed  and  fallen  had  it  not  been 
for  his  upholdingarms.  And  then,  suddenly: 

[255] 


THE    HEART    OF   LADY  ANNE 


"  Why  —  Nan  !  "  he  whispered  in  her  ear. 
"Why,  Nan/" 

"  Philip !  " 

He  suffered  her  to  push  him  from  her  this 
time.  She  cast  the  domino  from  her  on  the 
floor.  Then,  with  a  hand  on  either  of  his 
broad  shoulders,  little  Nan  stared  into  her 
husband's  face  with  a  desperate  eagerness 
that  as  yet  dared  not  be  ecstasy. 

Yet  what  she  read  there  needed  no  word 
from  him  or  her :  what  of  love,  what  of 
patience  :  what  of  determination,  tender  re- 
proach —  nay,  of  a  passionate  joy  no  less 
than  her  own. 

She  broke  into  wild  weeping  and  flung 
herself  upon  his  heart. 

"You  knew  me,  you  knew  me  all  the 
time!  Oh,  Philip,  forgive  —  forgive,  and 
take  me  home !  " 

In  spite  of  all  the  anxious  sorrow  she  had 
caused  him,  he  spoke  but  one  word  of 
rebuke. 

"  Nan,"  he  said,  "  if  I  had  not  won  that 
letter  —  ?" 

"  Oh ! "  she  began,  all  in  hot  shame,  yet 
[256] 


it  THE    HEART  OF    LADY  ANNE  jg 

eager  in  her  innocence.  But  he  laid  his 
finger  on  her  lip.  That  she  should  try  and 
justify  herself  he  could  not  endure. 

"  I  know,"  he  said.  "  Oh,  my  poor  little 
foolish  French  girl,  did  you  think  your 
English  husband  had  ceased  to  protect  you, 
even  when  you  would  have  naught  of  his 
love!  My  dear,  did  you  believe  it  was  for 
love  of  gambling  I  went  to  Lady  Buck's ;  or 
that  the  pleasures  of  masquing  —  hollow 
pretext  for  folly  playing  at  vice  —  allured  me 
yonder  night  to  Elm  Park  House  ?  Or  yet 
that  't  was  sympathy  with  the  gambler  and 
profligate  that  made  me  strike  with  Devlin 
so  close  a  connection  that  I  was  known  as 
his  shadow  —  a  shadow,  Nan,"  said  the 
Squire,  with  a  marked  emphasis  in  his  voice, 
"that  exceeded  the  duty  of  most  shadows 
and  followed  its  body  even  in  the  dark  ? " 

She  raised  her  eyes,  so  abashed  yet  so 
clear,  to  meet  his  earnest  glance. 

"  Then  last  night  —  ?  "  she  faltered. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "even  last  night  I  was  at 
hand." 

Her  tears  leaped  out  again.  She  was  hu- 
miliated, crushed ;  yet  there  was  a  savour  in 
'?  [  257  ] 


&  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  & 

her  very  punishment  sweeter  than  the  scent 
of  bruised  herbs.  And  the  next  instant  she 
was  in  his  arms  again,  and  his  lips  gave  her 
words  of  love  and  kisses  together. 

"  Oh,  Nan,  do  not  speak.  I  know,  I 
know.  And  I  have  had  to  be  cruel  to  you 
too  —  poor  child,  that  would  not  be  taught 
by  a  kiss.  I  played  upon  your  very  love  for 
me.  Ah,  you  strove  to  taunt  me  into  jeal- 
ousy, and  I  have  captured  you  back,  my 
bird,  by  your  own  net." 

"  Back  to  your  feet,"  she  said,  and  her 
tears  ran  down  into  their  kisses. 

"No,"  said  he,  "to  my  heart  —  that  heart 
which  has  always  held  you  since  first  it  re- 
ceived you  —  little  French  Nan." 

"  Nay,"  she  whispered  back  to  him,  happy 
laughter  catching  up  her  happy  sobs,  "  not 
French  Nan  any  more  —  English  Nan,  the 
Squire's  wife." 

"  My  own  Nan  !  " 

"  Pray,"  said  her  Grace  of  D suddenly 

over  her  shoulder  to  one  of  the  gentlemen 
who  sat  behind  her  in  her  box  —  she  had 
been  in  no  very  urbane  temper  all  the  even- 

[=58] 


"A  MERE   CHIT  — BUT  A  BOLD   ONE"— Page  259 


COPYRIGHT,      1905,     rff     F.     A.     STOKES     CO. 


gj  THE   HEART   OF    LADY  ANNE  $g 

ing,  and  it  was  the  first  remark  she  had 
vouchsafed  for  quite  half  an  hour  —  "is  not 
that  Mr.  Day  yonder  in  the  crowd,  with  a 
lady  on  his  arm  ?  " 

"  Even  so,"  said  my  Lord  Verney,  leaning 
over  the  edge  of  the  box. 

"  La!  "said  her  Grace,  with  a  short  laugh; 
"and  who  may  the  new  flame  be?  Why, 
'tis  a  mere  chit  —  but  a  bold  one  to  march 
her  conquest  about  thus  barefaced !  Nay, 
very  worthy  Lord,  you  are  too  prodigious 
well  brought  up  by  your  lady  mother  to 
have  acquaintance  with  such  quality!  Pray, 
Sir  James,  come  you  forward.  I  '11  wager,  if 
the  creature  's  known  at  all,  you  will  know 
her." 

Jim  Devlin  came  languidly  from  the  back 
of  the  box  and  raised  the  single  eyeglass. 

"  See  how  it  is,"  he  murmured,  while  his 
pale  eye  roamed  in  the  crowd,  "  the  country 
freshness  of  the  fellow  will  be  his  ruin.  If  I 
but  let  him  one  instant  from  my  sight  our 
pretty  Squire  falls  in  mischief.  Now  whom 
has  he  gleaned  ?  " 

Even  as  he  spoke  his  countenance  altered, 
the  glass  dropped  from  his  eye.  Then  he 
[  259] 


£!  THE    HEART    OF    LADY  ANNE  gg 

burst  into  a  laugh,  so  boisterous  that  none 
had  ever  heard  the  like  from  Jim  the  Devil 
before. 

"Why,  egad!"  he  cried,  "haycocks  are 
the  price  of  virtue  to-night  —  The  fellow  has 
picked  up  his  wife  !  " 

Philip  Day,  passing  on  his  way  out  of  the 
ring  close  beneath  the  Duchess's  box,  with 
Lady  Anne  upon  his  arm,  lifted  his  hat 
gravely  and  saluted  the  company. 


THE    END 


[  260] 


xjS31^ 

\2> 


